Owen Louw.
Gabriel’s father.
13
Valentina
Everything happens at once. A painful contraction folds me double. A dull ache drives into my brain until my vision turns blotchy with spots. And my water breaks.
It’s too early.
These are nothing like the Braxton Hicks contractions I got used to. The pain drives me to my knees. Gnashing my teeth together, I wait it out, and when the band of agony lets go, I grab the desk and pull myself up. I use the desk phone to dial the emergency number, inhaling and exhaling while I wait. Just as someone takes the call, the second series of contractions hits.
I clench my teeth and groan.
“Hello?” the operator says. “Can you hear me?”
Please don’t hang up.
Click.
Damn. No! Putting one hand on the furniture, I use the desk, chair, and wall for support to make my way to the lounge. Dizziness slows my progress. My head hurts as much as my abdomen. Just then, Charlie exits the scullery with a basket full of socks.
“Go get Rhett,” I say as calmly as possible, even as every bone in my body is shaking. There’s a good chance I’m going to lose the baby.
Charlie takes one look at me and drops the basket. “Va–Val!”
“It’s okay. Where’s Rhett?” I continue to the kitchen, but another contraction stills me before I can get to my phone that’s lying on the counter.
It hurts like nothing I’ve felt. My head is going to explode. I count through it. One, two, three, four, five. Another few steps. My cry isn’t loud, but it’s a wretched sound. “Rhett?”
He flies from his room, his hair wet and a towel wrapped around his waist. “Val, did you call me?” His eyes fall on the wetness on my legs and feet, and then they grow large.
“The baby,” I whisper, tears dripping from my eyes. “Call an ambulance.”
The thought that runs on repeat through my mind shows in the way he shakes his head in silent denial.
Too early.
We don’t stand a chance with a premature home delivery. If I don’t make it to a hospital on time, my baby is dead. I cry harder as Rhett gets our private ambulance service on the line and gives them our address, but the crying only makes the pain in my head worse. All the while he rubs my shoulder. I’m grateful for that point of human contact. I’m scared to go through this alone.
“They’re on their way,” he says in a clipped voice when he hangs up.
“Call Kris. She needs to stay with Charlie.” I grunt as another contraction pulls my abdomen into a sharp point of pain.
Breathe. In, out. In, out.
While Rhett makes the call to Kris, I speak to Charlie. “I’m going to hospital, like we talked about. You’re going to be all right. Kris is coming to see you. Ask her to cook whatever you like. There’s lots of food in the fridge.”
“She’ll be here as soon as she can,” Rhett says on a huff.
“Can you be brave for me?” I ask Charlie.
“Bra–brave.”
“Good. I love you so, so much.” I want to say more, but I can’t speak through the next contraction. I have to lean on Rhett for support. Impatient for it to lift, I blow out a breath and drag in air. I have little time before the next one comes. “You’ve always been a good, big brother to me, Charlie. Never forget how much I love you.”
“God, Val.” Rhett’s voice is choked. “Don’t talk like that.”
“I’m good.” I give him a reassuring pat on the arm. “I just want him to know.”
“He knows.” Rhett shoots a worried look at Charlie. “How about watching a movie until Kris comes?”
“O–okay.”
As Charlie heads for the cinema room, Rhett carries me to the sofa. He pushes a pillow under my head and strokes my hair. “You’re strong. You’re going to be fine.”
My smile is weak, because my heart is not in it.
Please don’t let my baby die. Please don’t let him pay the price.
Rhett has his phone pressed to his ear when sirens sound in the distance. “Damn you, Gabriel, pick up,” he mutters under his breath.
I don’t know how I feel about Gabriel being here, right now, but this is still his baby, too.
“Quincy?” I offer, grinding my teeth through the pain.
He’s already scrolling through his contact list when the intercom buzzes, but gives up on the call to open the gate from the control panel in the kitchen. Rhett rushes for the door and lets the paramedics in. Despite the fact that he’s still only wearing a towel, he runs next to the stretcher as they wheel me to the ambulance.
He grips my hand. “I’m not leaving your side.”
“No. Stay with Charlie.” He could drown in the pool or explode the gas in the kitchen. There are too many potential accidents waiting to happen in this house. When it looks as if he’s going to argue, I beg. “Please, Rhett.”
Reluctantly, he gives in, but his expression lets me know he’s not pleased.
“I’ll call Quincy,” he calls as the paramedics load me into the back of the ambulance and one of them takes up a position next to me.
We’re speeding off when the medic starts bombarding me with medical questions about my health history and the pregnancy while he listens to my heartbeat and takes my blood pressure. His eyes flare when he reads the gauge.
“Except for the contractions, do you have any other pain?”
“My head hurts.”
“Blurred vision, seeing spots, or sensitivity to light?”
“Spots.”
His frown deepens. “Nausea or vomiting?”
“Nausea, but I’ve been nauseous since the beginning of the pregnancy.”
“Dizziness?”
“Yes.”
He connects me to a tocometer to measure my contractions and tells me he’s sending the information to the hospital ahead of my arrival. He doesn’t say there’s nothing to worry about, and I’m glad he doesn’t give me meaningless reassurance.
Thanks to Gabriel’s private medical insurance, I’ve been pre-admitted for the delivery at the brand-new Broadacres Clinic a short distance away from home. We clear the gates less than twenty minutes later. A male nurse is waiting at the emergency entrance to escort me to an examination room in the delivery wing where an obstetrician takes immediate charge. With him are two nurses. He’s studying a tablet as one nurse helps me undress and pull on the hospital robe while the other prepares a drip. The nurse helps me into a bathroom for a urine sample before leading me to a gynecology chair where the doctor takes a blood sample and does a physical examination. The look in his eyes when he finally lifts his head reflects my fears.
“Mrs. Louw,” he says in a soothing voice, “you’re nine centimeters dilated, and your contractions are two minutes apart. You’re in the active phase of labor. It’s too late for an epidural. We’re going for natural unless there are complications, all right?”
“Can’t you stop the contractions? It’s too early for the baby.”
The way he looks at me is so calm that his next words floor me completely. “You have severe preeclampsia. Are you familiar with the term?”
I frown at him. “Vaguely.”
“Your blood pressure is too high. If you don’t deliver the baby now, you risk developing eclampsia or seizures, which can be life threatening.” He softens the blow with a pat on my leg.
“What?” Shock resonates through me. “My baby! What about my baby?” I bite my lip as pain sharper than before contracts my body.
“We’re going to do our best. The rest is in God’s hands.” There’s a sense of urgency but also confidence in his movements as he starts to prepare, pulling on scrubs and a hair cap. “Can we call someone to be with you?” He glances at the screen of the tablet. “You have only your husband listed.”
The only people I want are Kris and Charlie. They’re the ones who stood by me regardless, who never lied to or deceived me, but this isn’t a situation I can expose C
harlie to, and it’s better that Kris takes care of him.
“No,” I say, “there’s no one else.”
“Get the anesthesiologist on standby,” the doctor says to one of the nurses.
The nurse pushes a needle into my arm and connects it to a drip while the doctor takes a seat in front of my bent legs.
“Push when I tell you,” he says. “On the count of three. One. Two. Three!”
The contractions are coming faster and harder. I need all my energy to breathe through them. I don’t have enough strength left to think, let alone to talk, so I put everything out of my mind except the one task required of me––delivering this baby.
14
Gabriel
The meeting runs overtime. While our investor drones on about the real estate market, I check my watch. It’s almost eight. My phone vibrates on the tabletop. I glance at the screen. It’s a message from Quincy.
Call Rhett.
Something’s up. Being in a meeting, I’d ignored Rhett’s earlier call, but both my bodyguards won’t be trying to reach me if it’s not important. Excusing myself, I leave Michael to chair the meeting and make the call in the hallway.
Rhett’s voice is strained. “Valentina’s on her way to the Broadacres Clinic.”
Every sinew in my body is a string about to snap. “What happened?”
“Her water broke.”
I go cold. I clench the phone so hard my fingers hurt. “Hold on.” I shake like a puppy in a storm. My leg is dead weight dragging behind my body as I hurry back into the meeting room and whisper my emergency in Michael’s ear.
“Go,” he says, grabbing my shoulder, “and let us know.” His eyes are laced with concern as they follow me out of the room.
In the hallway, I text Quincy, telling him to bring the car around, and revert back to Rhett’s call.
Speaking as I walk, I ask, “Where are you?”
“At the house. I’m waiting for Kris to arrive to stay with Charlie. As soon as she gets here, I’ll go to the hospital.”
“How did this happen? Did she lift something heavy?” Dear God, did she…? “Did she fall?” I should’ve been there, dammit. Maybe she tried to clean under the bed again or carry the laundry basket downstairs.
“I don’t know.” Rhett sounds lost. Frightened. “Magda arrived, I went for a shower, and the next thing I knew, Valentina’s in labor.”
“Wait.” Magda arrived? My hackles grow ten inches long. “What did Magda want?”
“I don’t know. I assumed it was a social visit.”
It doesn’t add up. I’m in the lobby, scanning the street for Quincy. “Did you see her?”
“No. I only opened the gate. Valentina met her at the door. I went for a shower to give them privacy.”
“Is she still there?”
“She left before Valentina’s water broke.”
Spotting the Jaguar pulling up to the curb, I race for the passenger side. “Good.” I don’t want Magda there when I’m not home. I get inside and cover the phone with a hand. “Broadacres Clinic,” I say to Quincy. “Hurry. Valentina’s having the baby.”
Quincy pales. He puts the car in gear and takes off with screeching tires.
“I’m on my way,” I say. “We’ll be there in twenty.”
Luckily, at this hour, there’s little traffic. We take the quieter roads and make it to the clinic in just under my predicted time.
Quincy drops me off at the front entrance. “Go. I’ll park the car.”
As a short month ago, I rushed to the reception desk, but this time I ask for my wife. As a month ago, the receptionist tells me to stay put. A doctor is on his way to meet me. I turn to stone. My organs transform into lead. I haven’t been directed to a lounge, but it’s the same.
A young man in a white coat approaches me. He doesn’t waste time with a greeting.
“Mr. Louw, your wife is in labor.”
I’m like a lion ready to pounce. I want to be with my woman. “I know. Take me to her.”
“Shortly.” His tone is assertive. “First, I need to bring you up to speed.” He turns and starts walking, not looking to see if I’m following.
When we enter a small visitor’s room, everything inside of me turns heavy. My stomach is a ball of granite. My chest cavity is filled with rocks.
He closes the door and turns to me. “Your wife has severe preeclampsia as a result of hypertension. The only way to prevent further risks is for the baby to be delivered immediately, but we’re battling to stabilize her blood pressure. We’re administering magnesium sulfate intravenously. If her body doesn’t react to the magnesium, she may develop eclampsia. In other words, she may have seizures. We’ve already explained the condition and possible consequences to her. Before you go into the delivery room, we need to do the same.” He takes a breath and plows forward. “There’s a chance she may not survive the birth.”
My legs turn to stone pillars. My fault. My doing. “How big a chance?”
“Right now, I’d say fifty-fifty, but it depends on how she reacts to the medication.”
My first irrational reaction is anger. “Our private doctor examined her every two weeks. Why didn’t he pick this up?”
“Preeclampsia often only starts at the onset of labor.”
“She wasn’t due for another two months. What went wrong?”
I’m screaming at nature, at God, and at the day I replaced her birth control pills with placebo ones. If I can find what triggered the untimely contractions, maybe I can go back in time and change it. Maybe I can find the mistake and flog myself to reverse this process, to take her back to before her water broke. Or maybe I simply need to punish myself for not carrying that laundry basket for her. If I flog my back to bloody strips for letting her bend down and clean under the bed, maybe God will forgive me and spare her life.
“It’s hard to say,” the doctor says. “A physical shock could’ve triggered the birth, emotional trauma, illness… there are many factors. What matters now is that you support her.” He grabs my shoulder. “You have to be strong for her, Mr. Louw. It’s what she needs most.”
I haven’t realized that big, fat, slobbering tears are streaming over my face until he hands me a tissue from a box strategically placed on the table. If she dies… No, no, no. I can’t face it.
“Ready?” The doctor gives my shoulder a squeeze. “We should go.”
Another minute later, I’m showering and scrubbing in a change room, donning the scrubs a nurse put out for me. My chest is so tight it’s difficult to breathe. The beat of my heart is like the slap of a hammer on a block of marble, chipping away at the corners and edges, carving deep grooves into the memories of my moments with Valentina.
Please, God, save her.
I’ll give my life, instead. Don’t make her pay for my mistakes. Don’t let her pay the ultimate price for my selfish lust and hardheaded will to keep her. Save her and I swear I’ll make this right. I’ll take a vow on my knees to undo every wrongdoing, every self-serving sin I committed against her. Even if it kills me, I’ll set her free.
I’ll let her go.
Fuck, that thought cuts crisscrossed lashes into my heart. Retribution is a bitch, and I deserve every bit of it.
“Let’s go, Mr. Louw.”
The nurse leads me down a long hallway with too bright lights. It’s like walking down a tunnel toward the end. There’s mercy in life and peace in death. I don’t want her to have peace yet, not before she’s lived the full and happy life she deserves. I want her to grow old and see her grandchildren married. I want her to have whatever she wants. I want her to have the mercy.
The woman in the white uniform holds a door and motions for me to enter. My world crashes to pieces before those pieces are reconstructed to form the picture facing me. My wife lies on a bed, straining with all her might. Her face is as white as pottery clay, and her slender legs are shaking in an unnatural way, as if she’s having a fit. She’s trying to give life to the baby I put in her wom
b, and suddenly her frail limbs look too vulnerable for the task. Her hair is plastered to her brow, and her skin shiny with perspiration, but the set of her mouth is determined. Strong.
Jerking from my immobile state of shock, I rush to her side and take her hand. The stump that used to be her thumb is another reminder of who I am, one more piece I took away from her.
“You can do it, beautiful.”
What lies in front of me is a broken creature, an angel with torn wings and pieces of her soul and body missing. Despite the injuries, she still fights to fly. I lift her hand to my mouth and kiss her fingers. Her skin is cold.
Consent (The Loan Shark Duet Book 2) Page 18