Chapter 85
Amelia
At noon, I was halfway through my turkey sandwich when my phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime call. Lucas's beaming face filled the screen as I answered.
"Mommy! Mommy! Can we go to Central Park today? Mrs. Wilson says there's a puppet show!" His little voice bubbled with enthusiasm as he pressed his face closer to the camera, giving me an extreme close-up of his nose.
"Sweetheart, I'm at the hospital today," I said, automatically softening my voice. "Remember I told you mommy has to help other babies be born?"
Lucas's face fell instantly, and I felt that familiar pang of guilt squeeze my heart. Behind him, I could see Mrs. Wilson giving me an apologetic look.
Ever since Mrs. Bennett unexpectedly went abroad last week, I had no choice but to bring the children back, but I strictly forbade them from leaving the apartment.
"But I want to go NOW," he insisted, his lower lip trembling in that way that always made me want to drop everything and run home to him. "Ella's being boring. She's just coloring with Mrs. Garcia."
I smiled and asked, "Is Ella having fun with Mrs. Garcia?"
"Yeah, but I'm bored," Lucas sighed dramatically, his little shoulders slumping.
Mrs. Wilson gently moved into frame. "I'm sorry to disturb you at work, Dr. Thompson. I thought perhaps the children could use some fresh air. They're getting restless after being stuck indoors all morning."
I chewed my lip, considering the options. The twins had been adjusting to New York life, but I hadn't had the chance to take them out much between settling in and returning to work.
"Maybe you could take them to the Children's Museum instead?" I suggested. "It might be less crowded than Central Park on a weekend."
Mrs. Wilson nodded, but I could see the fatigue in her eyes. She and Mrs. Garcia had been incredible with the twins, but they weren't as young as they used to be.
"You know what," I said, making a decision, "you both have been working so hard. I don't want you driving in Manhattan traffic with two energetic three-year-olds. Let me call my brother and see if he can arrange for someone to take you."
Lucas's face lit up again. "Uncle Daniel? Is he coming to play?"
"No, sweetheart, Uncle Daniel is in Boston, but he might send Frank to drive you around. Would you like that?"
"Yes!" Lucas pumped his tiny fist in the air. "Frank lets me pretend to drive!"
After promising Lucas I'd call right away and blowing him several kisses, I ended the call and immediately dialed Daniel.
"Hey, little sister," Daniel's warm voice came through after just two rings. "How's New York treating you?"
"Good, but I need a favor," I said, glancing at my watch. My lunch break was almost over. "The twins are getting restless in the apartment. Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Garcia are amazing, but I don't want them dealing with Manhattan traffic and two energetic three-year-olds."
Daniel chuckled. "Say no more. Want me to send the jet to bring them to Boston for the weekend? Benjamin and Eleanor would love to see them."
"No, nothing that extreme," I laughed, though the offer was tempting. "I was thinking maybe you could spare Frank for the day? Just to drive them to the Children's Museum and maybe a quick lunch?"
"Done," Daniel said without hesitation. "Actually, I've been meaning to talk to you about this. I think you need a more permanent solution. Frank can be assigned to you full-time while you're in New York."
I started to protest, but Daniel cut me off.
"Amelia, you're an Astor now, whether you use the name or not. Your children are Astors. And in New York, that means something. I'd feel better knowing you had Frank with you, especially with..." he trailed off.
After a pause, Daniel said, "Frank isn't just a driver, he's security. He's discreet, professional, and he knows how to handle any situation. Plus, the twins already love him."
I sighed, knowing he was right. "Okay, but just for today. We can discuss permanent arrangements later."
"Perfect. I'll have him at your place within the hour. He'll call Mrs. Wilson directly to coordinate."
After thanking Daniel and ending the call, I gathered my things and headed back to the maternity ward, my mind still wrestling with the implications of accepting more help from the Astors. I'd spent so many years being fiercely independent, and now I was part of a family that considered private drivers and security details normal everyday conveniences.
My philosophical musings were cut short by the shrill sound of the emergency alert system. "Code Blue, Maternity Ward. Code Blue, Maternity Ward."
I broke into a run, my heart racing as I made my way to the source of the alarm. The scene that greeted me was controlled chaos: a young woman, heavily pregnant, was being rushed down the hallway on a gurney, her face ashen and unconscious. Blood soaked the sheets beneath her.
"What happened?" I demanded, falling into step beside Dr. Palmer, the senior attending physician.
"Twenty-eight-year-old female, thirty-six weeks pregnant, admitted with severe abdominal pain and bleeding. BP's dropping, fetal distress indicated. We're prepping for emergency C-section," he rattled off, his voice calm despite the urgency.
Within minutes, I was scrubbed in and standing in the operating room as Dr. Palmer made the first incision. The anesthesiologist worked frantically to stabilize the mother while we focused on delivering the baby.
"There's extensive internal bleeding," Dr. Palmer noted grimly. "Looks like placental abruption."
I assisted as we worked to deliver the baby, a tiny girl who emerged silent and blue. I immediately took her to the warming table, working with the pediatric team to stimulate breathing.
"Come on, little one," I murmured, rubbing her chest gently. After what felt like an eternity but was probably only seconds, the baby gasped and let out a weak cry. Relief flooded through me.
Meanwhile, the mother's condition was deteriorating rapidly. "BP's still dropping. She's losing too much blood," the anesthesiologist called out.
"Push another unit," Dr. Palmer ordered as a nurse rushed in with more blood bags.
The next five hours were a blur of focused intensity as we fought to save both lives. By the time we finished, the baby was stable in the NICU, and the mother, while alive, remained unconscious with possible neurological complications.
As I stepped out of the operating room, exhausted but relieved, I was immediately confronted by the sounds of a heated argument. Two distinct groups of people stood in the waiting area - one clad in designer clothes and exuding wealth, the other dressed more modestly but with equal concern etched on their faces.