Lifeline

Chapter 15

In the days that followed, the discomfort in my stomach would occasionally resurface, almost like a reminder of the emotional turmoil I had experienced. Each time it happened, I found solace in the fact that it seemed to coincide with my thoughts about the encounter with Sarah. It was as if my body was echoing my emotions, reacting to the stress and unease that had taken hold of me. I continued to reassure myself that the stomach pain was a result of my emotional state rather than something more serious. Whenever the discomfort flared up, I would take deep breaths and focus on calming my mind. It was a delicate dance between acknowledging my feelings and avoiding unnecessary panic. During this time, Alex returned from his business trip, and the moment I saw him, a sense of relief washed over me. He enveloped me in a warm hug, and I held onto him tightly, as if his presence alone could chase away the remaining traces of my anxiety. As we settled into our routine, I found comfort in our shared moments—cooking together, cuddling on the couch, and simply being in each other's company. Alex's unwavering support and presence brought a sense of stability to my life, reminding me that I didn't have to face my struggles alone. One evening, as we sat on the couch, Alex gently took my hand in his and looked at me with a soft smile. "You've been through a lot lately," he said, his eyes full of concern. I nodded, grateful for his understanding. "Yeah, it's been quite a rollercoaster." He squeezed my hand reassuringly. "Remember, I'm here for you, no matter what. If you ever want to talk about anything, don't hesitate." I smiled back at him, the weight of my worries momentarily lifting. "Thank you, Alex. It means the world to me." Our conversation drifted to lighter topics, and I found myself laughing genuinely for the first time in a while. As we talked and shared stories, I felt a sense of normalcy returning to my life. The stomach discomfort had become less frequent, and I was gradually regaining control over my emotions. With Alex by my side, the dark moments felt a little less daunting, and the challenges that had once seemed insurmountable became more manageable.

One night, I was jolted awake by an intense wave of cramps. My heart raced, and I instinctively reached for my abdomen, where the small bump was growing, hoping to soothe the discomfort. I tried to steady my breathing, reminding myself that pregnancy comes with its share of aches and pains, and the encounter with Sarah definitely left a mark on me. Gently easing myself out of bed, I made my way to the bathroom, convinced that this was just another sign of my body reflecting how upset I was still over her words. But as I pulled down my underwear and saw the unmistakable pool of blood, my world seemed to shatter around me. My breath caught in my throat, and I felt a rush of panic wash over me. The room spun, and the worst thoughts crashed down on me—a wave of fears that threatened to consume me whole. I steadied myself against the bathroom counter, my grip tightening as tears welled up in my eyes. "No, no," I whispered to myself, my voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and disbelief. "This can't be happening." My mind raced, with worst-case scenarios flooding my thoughts. I clutched my stomach as if trying to protect the tiny life within me, my heart aching with a sense of possible loss that seemed to suffocate me. As the tears fell, I sank to the bathroom floor, my body trembling with a combination of physical pain and overwhelming worry. I felt as if I was spiralling, falling into a void of darkness where all my hopes and dreams were slipping through my fingers. The weight of the moment was crushing, a heavy cloud of despair that seemed to smother any glimmer of hope. I wanted to scream, to shout out for help, but my voice was reduced to choked sobs that echoed in the empty bathroom. In that moment of vulnerability, as I sat on the cold tile floor, I felt isolated, as if I were carrying this all on my own. The fear that I had failed, that I couldn't protect the life growing within me, was a haunting thought that gnawed at my soul. But just as the darkness threatened to consume me entirely, a soft knock on the bathroom door cut through the silence. "Liz? Are you okay?" Alex's voice, laced with concern, reached my ears. I hiccuped a sob, struggling to find my voice. "Alex, I... I need you." Without hesitation, he pushed the door open, his face filled with worry as he knelt beside me on the floor. His strong arms pulled me in. "Liz, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft yet urgent. "Tell me." I tried to speak, to put into words the overwhelming pain that had taken hold of me, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I buried my face in his chest, my tears staining the fabric of his shirt as I clung to him. "Shh, it's okay," Alex whispered, his fingers gently brushing my hair. "You're okay, Liz. I'm here with you. It's over. She can't hurt you, Liz." In his embrace, I allowed myself to grieve and release the emotions that had been building within me. The weight of the moment felt just a bit more bearable, and as my tears subsided, I found my voice again. "Alex," I managed to say, my voice shaky and tear-choked, "I... I woke up with cramps, and there was blood. I'm scared, Alex. I'm scared about the baby." The weight of those words hung in the air, and the raw vulnerability of the moment created tension between us. Alex's eyes, usually so filled with warmth and determination, were wide with shock, his own voice momentarily silenced by the weight of my confession. He stared at me, his gaze searching mine as if trying to find the right words. For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, the gravity of the situation casting a heavy shadow over us. Then, with a deep breath, Alex's expression shifted. Without a word, he gently helped me to my feet, his strong arms holding me once again. "Let's go to the hospital, Liz," he said, his voice steady despite the urgency in his words. "We need to make sure you're okay. Fuck, we should've done this already. " Nodding through my tears, I clung to him as he guided me out of the bathroom and into the hallway. Every step we took felt like a leap into the unknown. As we hurriedly gathered our things and made our way to the car, I couldn't help but feel a strange mix of emotions: fear, hope, and gratitude for the man who was by my side. Once inside the car, Alex's demeanour shifted from shock to focused intensity. He drove like a man on a mission, his grip on the steering wheel tight, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. The streets passed by in a blur as the world outside seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of us and the weight of our shared concern. I watched him from the passenger seat; the rhythmic sound of the windscreen wipers seemed to mirror the rhythm of my heartbeat—a constant reminder of the fragile life that hung in the balance. As we arrived at the hospital, Alex parked the car. He was out of the car in an instant, rushing to my side to help me out and guide me into the hospital's entrance. Every step we took felt heavy, the weight of our worries pressing down upon us. Yet, as Alex held my hand and led me through the hospital corridors, his presence was a steadying force, an anchor that kept me from being swept away by the anxiety. Finally, we reached the reception area, where the hospital staff took over, guiding us through the necessary steps and providing reassurances. In those moments, I clung to Alex, his touch a constant source of comfort as we waited for answers, our hearts entwined in a silent prayer for the well-being of our unborn child. And as we navigated the uncertain hours that followed, as doctors and nurses worked tirelessly to provide care and insight, the fear never left. Time seemed to stand still as we sat in the hospital room, our hearts heavy with dread. Every passing second felt like an eternity, the silence amplifying the weight of our shared concern. Then the door creaked open, and a doctor entered the room, his face a portrait of empathy and professionalism. He greeted us with a gentle smile, his eyes meeting ours as he began to explain the procedure he was about to perform. "Hello, I'm Dr. Bork," the doctor said, his voice soft and soothing. "We're going to perform an ultrasound to check on the baby and gather more information." I nodded, my throat tight with emotion, while Alex offered a small, supportive smile. The doctor was talking in English; a nurse probably told him about Alex. As the doctor applied the cool gel to my abdomen and manoeuvred the ultrasound wand, my heart raced in anticipation. The room was filled with a tense silence, broken only by the quiet hum of the machine. My breath caught in my throat as I watched the screen, searching for the reassuring flicker of a tiny heartbeat. But as the seconds ticked by, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. The doctor's expression remained neutral, his focus on the screen, yet the absence of that steady rhythm was a deafening silence that echoed in my ears. "I'm sorry," the doctor finally said, his voice gentle. "I'm not detecting a heartbeat." Time seemed to freeze as his words hung in the air, the weight of the news crashing down upon us. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision as the truth of the moment enveloped me. Beside me, Alex's face mirrored my own grief; his shock and sadness were etched into every line, and there was something else. He seemed... mad? I felt paralysed by the weight of the loss, the room closing in around me as the reality of the situation washed over me in waves. I clung to Alex's hand, seeking comfort in his touch, but something felt different now. Before I could process what was happening, Alex abruptly stood up, his chair scraping against the floor as he rushed from the room. The abruptness of his departure left me stunned, as if a rug had been pulled out from under me, and I was left feeling utterly alone in my grief. Tears streamed down my face, and a choked sob escaped my lips as I watched the door swing shut behind him. The room seemed to close in around me, and the feeling of abandonment that settled over me was strong. A nurse approached, her expression kind and understanding as she placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'm here for you, Liz. Take your time." "Fuck.. This is all my fault. Please look for him." She nodded and left the room.