Affection's Facade

In this, that is my life

Authors past pov

The concept of happiness had never seemed so elusive, so fractured, yet paradoxically vital. Elera had done everything right; she had cocooned herself in positivity, swallowed prenatal vitamins like they were sacred elixirs, and adjusted her pace to a maternal saunter. She had softened her voice, as if by speaking gently she could create a safe world for her unborn child. Still, in the end, all her cautionary tales had been written in most.

Now, walking through the apartment that had now been a haven of love and dreams, a cruel reality wrapped itself around her. A deep, stain began to spread across her ivory skirt, a malignant omen interrupting the sanctuary of her home life. That spreading shade of crimson tore through any illusion of safety, plunging her into a kind of horror she'd never before known.

"Hey, hey. Are you okay?" Elera whispered, pressing her hand against her stomach as if her touch alone could establish a lifeline to the life within her. The absence of a response—always expected, yet irrationally hoped against—sent a jolt of dread down her spine.

Frantic, her fingers fumbled around the phone before finally clutching it tight. "Mr. James, sir, I need your help. Please come get me. I don't know what's happening," her voice wavered, each word trembling through the air as she awaited his answer.

That was all James needed to hear. His arrival was swift, but the waiting moments stretched like eons, each second dripping with a mute form of terror. When he finally burst through the door, the concern embedded deep within his eyes was eclipsed by sheer urgency as he took in her compromised state.

"Miss, are you sure an ambulance wouldn't be faster?" James questioned, his voice heavy with a kind of solemnity that seemed to fill the room, making the air dense and time slow.

Elera hesitated, but she shook her head. "No, just drive. Please," she breathed out, each word soaked in a desperate plea.

The ride to the hospital was a blurred sea of city lights and the harsh glare of oncoming traffic, punctuated by Elera's quiet gasps and James' unyielding grip on the steering wheel. Elera's hands roamed over her abdomen, unable to comprehend what was happening.

The hospital doors flew open even before James had come to a complete stop. A team of nurses and doctors appeared as if materializing from the ether, their movements swift and orchestrated. Elera found herself being whisked away, her body becoming the reluctant stage for a moment she could not fathom.

"Stay calm sweetheart," the nurse advised as the doctor examined her, the pallor of his face unsettlingly serious. "We're doing all we can to stabilize both you and the baby."

Instruments whirred and alarms signaled, their dissonant symphony overwhelming. Through the haze of medical jargon and her internal tumult, Elera discerned the reality taking shape. "It's too early. I read that. It's just too early," she thought, her mind looping in anxious circles.

The next few minutes unfurled in a time-distorted montage: the arrival of a neonatologist, more frenzied consultations, and finally the doctor's voice, breaking through the din like a judge delivering a verdict.

"You're in premature labor," he declared, his eyes weighted with a gravity that made Elera's heart plummet. "We have to deliver the baby now for the best chance of survival."

Even as she nodded, dazedly consenting to whatever measures they suggested, Elera felt a dread settling in. " It hasn't been long though," she said while still being adrift in a storm of incomprehension, her emotions flickering like candle flames caught in the wind. Beside her, James stood as though carved from stone, his face a landscape of silence. He looked at her with occasional smiles.