The twins arrived by emergency C-section.
Tiny.
Fragile.
But alive.
Both alive.
The first time I heard them cry, I broke down completely.
Not because of the pain.
Not because of the fear.
Because they survived despite the people who should have protected them.
The surgeon later told me another delay of thirty to forty minutes could have cost one or both babies their lives.
I stared at the ceiling after he left.
Then I asked for my phone.
And I made exactly one call.
Not to Blake.
Not to Diane.
Not to any member of that family.
I called my attorney.
At 9:47 PM, Blake finally returned home.
The mall bags were still hanging from his arms.
Diane was laughing about something.
His sister was carrying three shopping bags.
His father had a box of new shoes.
The front door swung open.
And they froze.
The living room looked like something out of a homicide investigation.
Blood stained the carpet.
Medical paperwork covered the floor.
A broken lamp lay beside the couch.
One of the paramedics had left behind an emergency trauma wrapper near the hallway.
No lights were on.
No television.
No sound.
No me.
No babies.
Nothing.
Blake dropped his keys.
“Diana?”
Silence.
His voice cracked.
“Diana!”
The panic started immediately.
He ran through the house.
Kitchen.
Bedroom.
Bathroom.
Garage.
Nothing.
Every room was empty.
Then he noticed something sitting on the dining table.
A white envelope.
His name written across the front.
BLAKE.
His hands shook as he opened it.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
The first line made the blood drain from his face.
“Doctors informed me that another delay could have killed me and our children.”
By the time he reached the second paragraph, his knees gave out.
The shopping bags slipped from Diane’s hands.
His father stopped breathing for a second.
Because attached behind the letter was another document.
An official report from Mercy General Hospital.
Underlined in red.
PATIENT ARRIVED IN CRITICAL CONDITION.
PREGNANCY COMPLICATIONS EXACERBATED BY DELAYED EMERGENCY TRANSPORT.
Blake stared at those words.
