no! Please — Grayson! ”
He ’ s jolted awake at the sound of my voice. His large frame jostles my little one and I squeeze my legs together ever tighter, in a desperate attempt to protect our child.
“Ave, what is it? ” he asks, sitting up to turn on the bedside lamp.
I scream when the light reveals that I ’ m not simply wearing a pair of soiled underwear. No — I ’ m in the middle of blood soaked sheets. I wrap my arms around my middle as another cramp heightens my panic. My heart is beating so fast I feel like I might pass out. Then I feel Grayson ’ s hand slide over my hair before he gently grips my neck.
“Breathe, sweetheart! ” he insists. When I look at him, I can barely make out his face, my eyes overflowing with tears I wasn ’ t aware I was crying.
Everything seems to be happening without my permission! I feel so completely out of control of my entire body.
Oh, God — not my baby. Please don ’ t take my baby! Help me! Help us! Please!
My muscles lock up when I feel a pair of big, strong hands grab hold of my knees. “ No! ” I shout. When I look up, I notice that Grayson is fully dressed. I shake my head, wondering when he left my side.
“Come on, Ave — we have to go. I ’ m taking you to the hospital. ”
“I can ’ t! ” I sob. “ I can ’ t move. The baby — if I move —” I ’ m cut off by another pain. All at once I realize that these aren ’ t just cramps. My womb is attacking our baby.
“Avery, sweetheart, look at me, ” Grayson insists, gripping his hands around my face. When I look into his eyes, I see his fear and my heart breaks. I can see it in his green irises just as clear as if he were painting it on a billboard …
I ’ m losing our baby.
“Oh, Shorty, please? Will you please listen to me. Let me help you. Just — trust me, sweetheart. I have to get you out of here. ”
“Our baby …” I choke.
I don ’ t stop him when he slides my legs into a pair of pants I know are at least five sizes too big for me. I don ’ t stop him, but I don ’ t help him either. I can barely think let alone move — the pain I feel escalating with every breath I take. As I ’ m lifted into his arms, I can no longer differentiate the agony in my womb from the agony in my chest.
Our baby. I ’ m losing our baby.
The hospital is twenty minutes away from our apartment. I get us there in seven. It ’ s only by the grace of God that a cop doesn ’ t spot me driving like a bat out of hell. Nothing, no one, could have stopped me from getting to my final destination as quickly as possible. I would have rather been arrested after a high speed chase than delay our arrival to the hospital.
Yet, regardless of how fast I managed to get us here, I ’ m terrified that it took too long.
I park right in front of the emergency room and I ’ m out of the car in a fraction of a second. Avery ’ s cries have turned to weak whimpers. I don ’ t fool myself into thinking that her pain has lessened since the moment she woke me up, screaming. I have no idea how much blood she ’ s lost or whether or not her pain has reached a level she simply cannot tolerate, but she ’ s quickly approaching unconsciousness.
“Somebody help! Help me, please! ” I cry as soon as I have her in my arms.
Avery ’ s body is like a wilted flower cradled against my chest. My heart is beating so fast, my adrenaline in overdrive, as I race into the building. I know if someone doesn ’ t help me in the next two seconds, I ’ m going to lose it.
“Sir? Sir — what ’ s going on? How can I help you? ” A woman in a pair of plain blue scrubs stands before me, her eyes zeroed in on Avery.
“She ’ s bleeding — she won ’ t stop bleeding, and she ’ s in an unbearable amount of pain. She ’ s pregnant. ”
“How far along is she? ”
“Almost twelve weeks. Please —”
“I need a gurney over here, ” she calls out.
The words leave her mouth and then everything seems to happen
He ’ s jolted awake at the sound of my voice. His large frame jostles my little one and I squeeze my legs together ever tighter, in a desperate attempt to protect our child.
“Ave, what is it? ” he asks, sitting up to turn on the bedside lamp.
I scream when the light reveals that I ’ m not simply wearing a pair of soiled underwear. No — I ’ m in the middle of blood soaked sheets. I wrap my arms around my middle as another cramp heightens my panic. My heart is beating so fast I feel like I might pass out. Then I feel Grayson ’ s hand slide over my hair before he gently grips my neck.
“Breathe, sweetheart! ” he insists. When I look at him, I can barely make out his face, my eyes overflowing with tears I wasn ’ t aware I was crying.
Everything seems to be happening without my permission! I feel so completely out of control of my entire body.
Oh, God — not my baby. Please don ’ t take my baby! Help me! Help us! Please!
My muscles lock up when I feel a pair of big, strong hands grab hold of my knees. “ No! ” I shout. When I look up, I notice that Grayson is fully dressed. I shake my head, wondering when he left my side.
“Come on, Ave — we have to go. I ’ m taking you to the hospital. ”
“I can ’ t! ” I sob. “ I can ’ t move. The baby — if I move —” I ’ m cut off by another pain. All at once I realize that these aren ’ t just cramps. My womb is attacking our baby.
“Avery, sweetheart, look at me, ” Grayson insists, gripping his hands around my face. When I look into his eyes, I see his fear and my heart breaks. I can see it in his green irises just as clear as if he were painting it on a billboard …
I ’ m losing our baby.
“Oh, Shorty, please? Will you please listen to me. Let me help you. Just — trust me, sweetheart. I have to get you out of here. ”
“Our baby …” I choke.
I don ’ t stop him when he slides my legs into a pair of pants I know are at least five sizes too big for me. I don ’ t stop him, but I don ’ t help him either. I can barely think let alone move — the pain I feel escalating with every breath I take. As I ’ m lifted into his arms, I can no longer differentiate the agony in my womb from the agony in my chest.
Our baby. I ’ m losing our baby.
The hospital is twenty minutes away from our apartment. I get us there in seven. It ’ s only by the grace of God that a cop doesn ’ t spot me driving like a bat out of hell. Nothing, no one, could have stopped me from getting to my final destination as quickly as possible. I would have rather been arrested after a high speed chase than delay our arrival to the hospital.
Yet, regardless of how fast I managed to get us here, I ’ m terrified that it took too long.
I park right in front of the emergency room and I ’ m out of the car in a fraction of a second. Avery ’ s cries have turned to weak whimpers. I don ’ t fool myself into thinking that her pain has lessened since the moment she woke me up, screaming. I have no idea how much blood she ’ s lost or whether or not her pain has reached a level she simply cannot tolerate, but she ’ s quickly approaching unconsciousness.
“Somebody help! Help me, please! ” I cry as soon as I have her in my arms.
Avery ’ s body is like a wilted flower cradled against my chest. My heart is beating so fast, my adrenaline in overdrive, as I race into the building. I know if someone doesn ’ t help me in the next two seconds, I ’ m going to lose it.
“Sir? Sir — what ’ s going on? How can I help you? ” A woman in a pair of plain blue scrubs stands before me, her eyes zeroed in on Avery.
“She ’ s bleeding — she won ’ t stop bleeding, and she ’ s in an unbearable amount of pain. She ’ s pregnant. ”
“How far along is she? ”
“Almost twelve weeks. Please —”
“I need a gurney over here, ” she calls out.
The words leave her mouth and then everything seems to happen
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