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September 8,
MONIQUE DALIAH BANKS
| Nique POV |
Tears run down my cheeks as my vision blurs while I try to steady my breathing.
The room feels too bright, the sterile white lights overhead glaring down at me like a spotlight. My heart races in my chest, and the pressure building in my abdomen is unbearable.
I can hear voices, distant but urgent, as the medical team works around me, guiding me through each contraction.
"Monique, hold on fimi. Breathe, just keep breathing."
I can hear Zayn's voice beside me, but it feels distant, like I'm underwater. He's gripping my hand so tight I can barely feel my fingers, but I hold on, needing that connection, needing to feel him there.
Another contraction hits, harder than the last, and I scream, the sound raw and guttural, tearing from my throat before I can stop it.
The pain crashes over me in waves, each one stronger, more relentless. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push through it, but my mind keeps drifting back to the doctor's words from earlier, the ones I can't seem to shake.
"We'll do everything we can, Monique, but in extreme cases of preeclampsia, if things take a turn... you may have to make a difficult decision."
The memory floods my mind like a dark cloud, overshadowing everything else. They said they'd try to save us both. They said it wasn't likely, but they had to warn me just in case. Just in case.
What if I had to choose?
What if it came down to my life or the baby's? The thought gnaws at me, every contraction driving it deeper into my bones. How could I ever make that choice? How could anyone?
"Push, Monique, push!" the doctor urges, but my body feels like it's on fire. I can barely think through the pain, but the fear of what might happen next grips me tighter than anything else.
I glance over at Zayn through tear-filled eyes. His face is drawn tight with worry, his brow furrowed, but he's trying to stay strong for me, to stay steady.
He has to know what I'm thinking—he knows I'm scared, terrified, that something might go wrong. But he doesn't say it. He just keeps whispering encouragement, gripping my hand like his life depends on it.
"Mi deh right yasso mami...mi nah go nowhere," he says, his voice thick with emotion, but I can hear the tremor in it. He's just as scared as I am.
Another contraction builds, and I push, gritting my teeth against the pain. Every muscle in my body feels like it's about to snap, but I force myself to keep going. I don't have a choice. I have to keep going.
"Mi cya lose di baby, I can't ," I sob, my voice cracking with the effort. "Zayn, mi nuh know if mi strong enough fi dis."
Zayn's grip tightens around my hand, his eyes locking onto mine, fierce and determined. "Yuh strong, Monique. Yuh di strongest person mi know. Wi almost done, yuh alright? We ago alright."
I nod, but the fear won't leave. It wraps itself around me like a vice, choking every breath, every thought. I can feel my body weakening, exhaustion creeping into my bones.
The pressure is unbearable, and my vision blurs again as another wave of pain hits.
The doctor's voice cuts through the fog, sharp and urgent. "Monique, we need you to push. One more big push."
