Chapter 5 - The Complication
The baby’s cries echoed through the glass, breathing life into the sterile room.
But the relief was violently short-lived.
Alarms began to blare inside the operating theater.
The monitors next to Clara’s bed flashed bright red.
"Her pressure is tanking!" a surgeon shouted, his voice muffled by the glass.
"She’s hemorrhaging again!"
Roman tried to sit up, ripping the tape on his arm.
"What is happening?" he roared.
"Sir, you must stay still!" the nurse pleaded, pushing him back down.
"We need more blood, but your pressure is dropping too!"
"Take it!" Roman yelled, flexing his fist to pump the blood faster.
The room began to spin slightly as his blood volume decreased.
He watched the doctors frantically pack gauze and administer drugs to Clara.
The baby was whisked away to the neonatal intensive care unit by another team.
Roman was torn between two rooms, between two pieces of his soul.
"We are losing her!" Dr. Evans shouted from the theater.
Roman felt a cold darkness creeping at the edges of his vision.
He had never feared death in the streets, but he feared it now.
He feared a world where Clara did not exist.
"Clara, don't you dare," Roman whispered to the glass.
"Don't you dare leave me."
He focused all his remaining willpower on staying conscious.
He visualized his energy, his dark, stubborn life force, traveling through that plastic tube.
He would force her to live through sheer tyranny if he had to.
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The alarms continued to scream, a symphony of nightmare.
Then, slowly, agonizingly, the shrill beeping began to steady.
