Chapter 3 - The Diagnosis
The sterile, fluorescent lights of the emergency room waiting area felt like a physical weight pressing down on my shoulders. It had been two hours since they wheeled Sarah through the double doors, and every second felt like a lifetime. I paced the linoleum floor, my mind racing through the financial devastation I had uncovered earlier that morning.
I had gone into my secure server to pull documents for a client, only to find alerts on our joint investment accounts. Eleanor had somehow compromised Sarah's login, slowly bleeding our assets dry while playing the role of the doting grandmother-to-be. The sheer audacity of her entitlement made my blood boil, but all of that paled in comparison to the fear gnawing at my gut.
Finally, Dr. Evans, Sarah’s obstetrician, emerged from the swinging doors. Her expression was grave, which made my knees weak.
"David," she said, pulling me aside. "Sarah is stabilized, but it was incredibly close. The physical trauma to her abdomen caused a partial placental abruption. That, combined with extreme, prolonged physical stress and dehydration, sent her body into shock. If you hadn't come home when you did..." She let the sentence hang in the air, the implication heavy and terrifying.
"Is the baby okay?" I choked out, tears finally breaking through my composed exterior.
"The baby's heart rate has leveled out, but Sarah must remain in the hospital on absolute bed rest until she delivers. She cannot endure another spike in her blood pressure. I have to ask, David—Sarah mentioned an altercation with your mother. As a mandatory reporter, I’ve had to notify hospital security and the local authorities."
"Good," I said, a dark, cold resolution settling over me. "Tell them everything. I want charges pressed."
May you like
Dr. Evans nodded sympathetically. "Go see your wife. She needs you."
I walked into Sarah's hospital room. She looked so small amidst the monitors and IV lines, but when she saw me, a faint, fragile smile touched her lips. I sat on the edge of the bed, burying my face in her hands, and I swore to her, and to myself, that Eleanor Vance would pay for every single tear she had shed.
