The Culmination by Lauren Rowe

what.”
    “Jonas, they’re gonna do everything they can for all of them,” the operator says.
    “No, no, you don’t understand. You need to tell them— I can’t live without my wife. Make sure they understand the situation. I can’t live without Sarah. Nothing matters without Sarah. She’s my everything. ”
    The operator pauses. “Jonas, they’ll do everything they can—”
    “Listen to me,” I shout. “I can’t live without her!” I can’t keep a sob from lurching out of me. “Tell them to save her,” I scream. I grip the phone with white knuckles, tears streaming down my face. “Tell them to save my Sarah no matter what !”

Chapter 10
    Jonas

    “Blood pressure ninety over fifty,” the EMT says. He’s holding an oxygen mask over Sarah’s face. Another EMT is bent over her, securing an IV to her arm. They’re crowded around her, monopolizing her, edging me out. I’m sitting down by her feet, clutching her ankle, bug-eyed, practically convulsing with anxiety and dread. This can’t be happening. Surely, I’m going to wake up any minute, warm and calm next to Sarah in our bed. I’ll grab her and hold her close and tell her I love her and she’ll run her hands through my hair.
    Sarah mumbles something that sounds like, “Jonas.”
    I lean past the EMT and shove my face into Sarah’s. Her eyes are wide with terror. She’s pale—holy fuck, she’s so pale. The last time she looked like this she was lying on a bathroom floor.
    A tear falls out the corner of her eye and down her temple. Her teeth are chattering.
    “I’m here, baby,” I say. I grab her hand.
    “The babies.” The words are muffled by the oxygen mask, but I know exactly what she’s saying. Her body lurches with a sob.
    “Sit back a little, sir.”
    I lean in, an inch from her face. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”
    “The babies,” she whimpers. Her face contorts into sheer agony. “The babies, Jonas.” She breaks down into a sob. “The babies.” She’s becoming agitated.
    “Sit back, sir. Right now .”
    “It’s gonna be okay, Sarah.” I contain a sob that’s threatening to overtake me.
    She pulls the oxygen mask down. Her eyes are bugging out. “Jonas, the babies. Tell them.”
    “No.” My entire body jolts. “No, Sarah.”
    “No matter what—”
    “No.” I choke back another sob.
    “Promise me.”
    I grip her hand and squeeze—but I don’t promise. I never make promises I don’t plan to keep. Her hand in mine goes limp.
    “Heart rate dropping,” the EMT next to me says. “Sit back now,” he barks at me.
    I sit back and stare at Sarah’s unconscious body in front of me. Blood is pooling onto the stretcher between her legs, oozing, spreading. Her legs are drenched in blood, all the way down to her feet. Even her socks—the fuzzy wool socks I put onto her icy feet to keep them warm—are soaked with crimson blood.
    “Sarah?” the EMT prompts her, but she doesn’t reply. “Sarah? Stay with me, Sarah,” the EMT says.
    He leans into her, right up to her mouth. I can’t tell if she’s talking to him or if he’s just listening for sounds.
    I’m shaking violently.
    The back doors swing open. The paramedics push Sarah’s stretcher out the back of the ambulance and a throng of people in scrubs immediately surrounds her.
    One of the paramedics is shouting a rapid-fire laundry list of information to someone at the front of the procession. There’s a back-and-forth exchange, but I don’t understand what they’re saying.
    “Hypovolemic shock,” someone says as they whisk her away.
    “Suspected abruption,” another one of them says.
    I leap out the back of the ambulance and jog behind the armada surrounding Sarah, my heart beating wildly, as they whisk her along the length of the entire hallway. My movement isn’t conscious. My legs aren’t my own. I’m vaguely aware I’m screaming Sarah’s name as I run, but I can’t stop myself.
    “Twins,” I hear someone say.
    “Transfusion,”