Chapter 360: Early Labor
Chapter 360: Early Labor
[Sarah]
The antiseptic smell of the hospital hit me before I even opened my eyes. The steady beeping of monitors and the distant sound of nurses' voices in the hallway told me exactly where I was. My hand instinctively moved to my rounded belly, relief flooding through me when I felt the familiar flutter of movement from within.
"Mike?" I called out softly, my voice hoarse and raspy. The chair beside my bed creaked, and suddenly his worried face appeared in my line of vision.
"Sarah, thank God you're awake." He leaned forward, studying my face with the intensity of someone who'd been keeping vigil for hours. "How are you feeling?"
"What time is it?" I struggled to sit up, ignoring the dull ache in my lower back. The room was dimly lit, but I could see the first hint of dawn creeping through the blinds. "Have you heard anything about Liv?"
Mike's expression darkened, and he gently pushed me back against the pillows. "It's four in the morning. And no, there's no news yet. Sarah, you need to rest. The doctors said the stress could trigger early labor."
"I can't rest, not when Olivia is out there somewhere—" The words caught in my throat as another wave of anxiety crashed over me. Those men, that warehouse, the way Liv had looked so small and vulnerable on that dirty mattress. "Mike, she's pregnant. She's only six weeks along, and if they hurt her..."
"Theodore's team is doing everything they can," Mike said firmly, but I could see the worry lines etched around his eyes. "He's got people searching every warehouse, every abandoned building in the city. They'll find her."
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, determined to get up despite the IV line taped to my arm. "I should be out there helping them look. I should never have let her go to that shopping center alone."
"Sarah." Mike's voice carried a warning tone as he moved to block my path. "You're eight months pregnant. If you keep this up, you're going to deliver this baby right here, right now. Is that what you want?"
The harsh reality of his words hit me like a physical blow. I looked down at my swollen belly, at the life growing inside me that I was supposed to protect. My son needed me to be strong, to be careful, to think about his welfare above all else. But Olivia...
"I can't just lie here doing nothing," I whispered, tears stinging my eyes. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't sent her that message yesterday, if I hadn't—"
"Stop." Mike sat on the edge of the bed, his expression gentle but firm. "This isn't your fault. The only people responsible for this are the ones who took her."
The guilt was suffocating, pressing down on my chest like a physical weight. I tried to take deep breaths, but each one felt labored and insufficient. The room seemed to be spinning slightly, and I gripped Mike's arm for support.
"Just lie back down," he urged. "The baby needs you to stay calm."
Despite every instinct screaming at me to get up and do something—anything—I allowed him to help me back onto the bed. The exhaustion was overwhelming, and my body felt heavy with fatigue and stress. Within minutes, I felt consciousness slipping away again, dragged under by sheer emotional and physical exhaustion.
---
When I woke again, natural light was streaming through the windows, and the hospital room felt different. Warmer, somehow. I turned my head and saw Theodore sitting in the chair Mike had occupied earlier, his laptop open on his knees but his attention focused entirely on me.
"You're here," I breathed, feeling a complex mix of relief and anger wash over me. He looked tired, his usually perfectly styled hair slightly disheveled, his expensive suit wrinkled as if he'd slept in it.
"I got here as soon as I could." He closed the laptop and moved closer to the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Like my world is falling apart." I struggled to sit up, accepting his help when he offered it. "Theodore, it's Victoria. I know it's her. She's behind Olivia's disappearance, just like she was behind everything else. The video, Wilson's death, all of it."
His jaw tightened, and I saw something dangerous flash in his blue eyes. "I know. We'll find her, Sarah. I promise you, we'll find Olivia today."
The certainty in his voice should have been comforting, but something about his expression made me uneasy. Before I could ask what he meant, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the caller ID and his face went pale.
"It's James," he said, answering immediately. "James, tell me you have good news."
I couldn't hear the other side of the conversation, but I watched Theodore's expression change from hope to horror. His grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles went white.
"What hospital?" he asked sharply. "How bad is it?"
Hospital. My blood ran cold as the implications hit me. I grabbed Theodore's free hand, squeezing it desperately. "Is she alive? Theodore, is Olivia alive?"
He nodded, but his expression remained grim as he continued listening to James. When he finally hung up, he turned to me with the kind of careful expression people wear when they're about to deliver devastating news.
"Liv is alive," he said quickly, seeing the panic in my eyes. "She's alive, Sarah. They found her about an hour ago."
"But?" I could hear the but in his voice, could see it in the way he was avoiding my eyes.
"She's been... she's in the hospital. They hurt her, Sarah. And the baby..." He paused, his voice thick. "She lost the baby."
The world tilted sideways. I felt something hot and wet between my legs and looked down to see a spreading stain on the hospital sheets. The pain that had been a dull ache in my back suddenly intensified, radiating around to my abdomen in a wave that made me gasp.
"Sarah!" Theodore was on his feet, his hand on the call button. "Sarah, what's wrong?"
"I think..." I doubled over as another contraction hit, this one stronger than before. "I think my water just broke."
---
The next few minutes passed in a blur of medical professionals and urgent conversations. Theodore carried me swiftly to a delivery room while doctors and nurses swarmed around us, checking monitors and asking rapid-fire questions.
"Mrs. Pierce," the doctor said gently, "your water has indeed broken, and you're already dilated to five centimeters. We're going to need to deliver this baby today."
"It's too early," I gasped between contractions. "He's only eight months. It's too early."
"Theodore," I reached for him desperately. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."
He caught my hand, bringing it to his lips. "Liv is going to be okay," he said firmly. "She's alive, and she's going to recover. And our son is going to be perfectly healthy."
The contractions were coming faster now, each one more intense than the last. I could see the concern in the medical team's faces, could hear the urgency in their voices as they prepared for what was clearly going to be a complicated delivery.
"I need to push," I gasped.
"Not yet," the doctor said. "Let's get you into position first."
---
Three hours later, I held my son for the first time. He was impossibly small, his tiny fingers wrapped around my thumb, his breathing assisted by a small tube that made my heart clench with worry. At five pounds, two ounces, he was healthy for his gestational age, but he looked so fragile in my arms.
"He's beautiful," Theodore whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "He's perfect, Sarah."
But I couldn't stop staring at how small he was, how his little chest rose and fell with obvious effort. "This is my fault," I whispered, tears streaming down my face. "I stressed out, and now he's here too early. I'm already failing as his mother."
"Sarah, no." Theodore's hand covered mine where it rested on our son's tiny back. "This isn't your fault. Stress can contribute to early labor, yes, but babies are born when they're ready to be born. Eight months is considered safe for delivery. He's going to be absolutely fine."
A nurse approached carefully. "We need to take him to the NICU now," she said gently. "It's just a precaution for babies born before thirty-seven weeks. He'll be monitored closely, but his vital signs are all strong."
As they wheeled our son away, I felt a piece of my heart go with him. Theodore remained beside me, his hand stroking my hair as I tried to process everything that had happened.
"Olivia? Can I see her?"
"She's sleeping now. The doctors say she's going to make a full recovery, physically at least. Emotionally..." He trailed off, and I understood. Some wounds ran deeper than anything doctors could treat.
I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by guilt and exhaustion. Our son was in the NICU, fighting to grow stronger. My best friend was in another room, recovering from unimaginable trauma. And somewhere out there, the woman who had orchestrated all of this was either running free or facing consequences I wasn't sure I wanted to know about.
"I should have protected them," I whispered. "I should have protected both of them."
"You can't protect everyone, Sarah. But you saved yourself and our son. That's what matters now."