By then, it was night. The emergency exit signs cast a faint green glow in the dark, barely illuminating the ward.
I had no choice. I dragged my heavy body, step by agonizing step, to the restroom. Once there, I stripped off my nurse's uniform and laid it over the toilet seat. I had to deliver my baby alone.
The pain was unbearable. Without any pain relief, I passed out from the agony, only to wake up again when the contractions hit harder.
Time blurred. I could feel the baby crowning, but then—suddenly—there was nothing. The baby stopped moving.
I knew what that meant. My baby was suffocating, and there was nothing I could do. The floor of the restroom stall was soaked with blood and other fluids, but I pushed one last time, summoning every ounce of strength I had left. Something slid out of me, and then... darkness.
When I woke up, I was lying in the obstetrics ward.
“You’re awake?” The voice belonged to Elise Field, a young intern. She stood by my bedside, her expression filled with unease.
For some reason, my chest felt hollow, as if something vital had been ripped away.