The sound of sirens tore through the late afternoon air as the ambulance weaved through city traffic. Earn's mother sat beside her, gripping her hand tightly; her lips trembling as she whispered prayers.
Earn's complexion was ashen, her body still, save for the occasional, strained breath.
Over and over, she keeps saying, 'Please don't let anything happen to my baby. Please, please, please…'
At the hospital, a team was already waiting for them.
The doors burst open. Nurses and doctors surrounded the stretcher in a flurry of movement. IVs were inserted, monitors attached, urgent words exchanged, creating a haze of clinical voices around Earn. Her name echoed faintly as the team wheeled her into the ER. Earn's mother stepped forward but was gently held back by a staff member.
"Please wait here, ma'am."
"No, I need to be with my daughter," she said, tears welling in her eyes as she shook.
"We're sorry, ma'am, we'll do everything for her. Please stay here," the nurse urged.
Jintana realized there was nothing she could do except remain outside the emergency room. Her heart pounded in her chest as she clutched her bag tightly, as if it were a lifeline. She whispered yet another desperate prayer, "Please… please, don't take my daughter from me."
Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the corridor. Fahlada came running, her white coat flapping behind her, badge barely clipped on, clinic notes clenched in her hand. She burst through the hospital's automatic doors like a woman on fire.
Fahlada's eyes darted across the waiting area until they landed on Earn's mother. Jintana rushed to Fahlada and collapsed into her arms, swaying with exhaustion. Her face was streaked with tears.
"She—she collapsed so suddenly," Jintana choked out, "It went too fast, Fahlada. I'm sorry… I couldn't—"
The words hung in the air, heavy and unfinished. Fahlada held her, but her mind was spinning; she could barely register what Earn's mother was saying. Though she wanted to offer comfort, to say something that might ease her pain, all she could think about was Earn. And their baby.
"Where is she?" she asked, her voice cracked and breathless, and then the nurse appeared, recognizing her instantly.
"Dr. Thananusak! She's just been admitted—your wife is in Emergency Room 3."
She left Earn's mother with the nurse, not waiting for directions. Her footsteps grew heavier, each one fueled by panic. Her heart pounded against her ribs, louder than the sterile silence surrounding her.
'Please, not my wife… not her.'
She reached the emergency room just as a doctor stepped out, clipboard in hand.
It was Dr. Mekhin, one of the hospital's top emergency specialists, who was trained specifically in obstetric emergencies, particularly in the management of miscarriages. Calm yet decisive, she had the kind of presence that could steady panicked hearts and handle life-and-death situations with practiced precision.
As soon as Fahlada saw her, a cold dread sank into her chest; she knew it could only mean one thing.
"Fah… Doctor Thananusak" Mekhin stepped forward, gently catching Fahlada by the arms.
"She's stable… she made it through." Fahlada's knees nearly buckled in relief and clasped her hands together, then closed her eyes, silently praying to anyone who might hear her, grateful that her wife was fine. But that fragile relief crumbled the instant Dr. Mekhin spoke again.
"But the baby…" Her voice wavered. "There was nothing we could do."
Time stopped.
As if her mind refused to believe the words. She wanted to ask again, to make sure she had heard correctly. Her eyes lifted to Dr. Mekhin's face, and in that grave expression, she knew no second question was needed.
This was real. No one in their right mind would joke in a moment like this.
Something inside Fahlada collapsed, folding in on itself like paper swallowed by flame. Her mind reeled. Her body stayed still, numb and uncomprehending.
She looked toward the emergency room where Earn was probably lying in bed, wracked with pain, and the thought of her wife's hollow expression for losing their child stabbed at her heart.
Clutching her chest, she struggled to catch her breath. The corridor's white lights felt harsh and unforgiving, the air impossibly thin. Her knees gave out, and she sank to the floor, gasping.
"Doctor Thananusak, are you okay?! Get her some water, now!"
Fahlada's gaze drifted back to the door, lingering longer than she realized. She tried to speak, but only a broken breath escaped.
"I'm… okay. I want to see my wife… Can I… see her?" she finally managed to say, her voice raw and wavering.
Mekhin nodded, her own eyes glassy. "Of course. She was asking for you."
That was all it took.
Fahlada didn't walk; she moved like her soul had left her body, almost stumbling into the room, dreading the moment she'd meet Earn's eyes. Because she knew they would shatter her.
She stepped into the room.
There she was, Earn, small, fragile. She lay beneath a thin hospital blanket, hooked up to fluids. Her eyes were closed, but not in sleep; they were heavy with exhaustion. Her face was pale, her lips cracked. Her hand twitched faintly beside her, as if reaching for something she could no longer hold.
The faint smell of antiseptic mixed with a metallic scent of blood lingered around her, pressing down on Fahlada like a physical weight.
Fahlada's throat tightened so violently she could barely draw a breath.
"E..Earn…" she whispered, her voice breaking before the word even left her lips.
Earn opened her eyes slowly. When she saw Fahlada, she didn't cry. She didn't speak. She just looked at her, hollow, drained, like a woman who had poured out every ounce of hope and still come up empty.
And for the first time in weeks, Fahlada could no longer hold herself together. She crossed the room in seconds, dropping to her knees beside the bed. She grabbed Earn's hand, pressing it desperately to her cheek as her own tears fell freely, soaking the thin blanket. Her hands trembled, brushing over the IV line, the cool plastic biting at her fingers.
"I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "I should've been there. I should've… I should've stopped this from happening."
Earn blinked slowly, tears welling in her eyes. She gave a weak shake of her head, her voice faltering as she whispered, "It's… It's my fault."
"No… no, Earn." Fahlada cupped her wife's face, her thumbs brushing away the tears.
"Listen to me. It's not your fault. None of this is your fault."
"But I should've been more careful," Earn rasped, her words quivering with guilt.
"I should've come to the hospital the moment I felt something was wrong. I knew… I knew something felt off, and I… I didn't want to bother you. I thought… I thought I could handle it."
Her breath hitched under the weight of the miscarriage, as if it were crushing her from the inside. "I was so stupid… I should've protected our baby. I failed… I failed."
Fahlada's heart shattered completely at the sight of her wife quivering with sobs. She pulled Earn into a tight embrace, holding her as if she could absorb the pain through her own skin.
"No… my love, please don't say that," she pleaded, pressing her lips to her wife's damp hair. "You did everything you could. You loved our baby with all your heart — more than anyone could ever ask."
They clung to each other in the cold hospital room. The bright white lights were harsh, and the machines beeped faintly, indifferent to the pain in their arms. Fahlada shivered with grief, every tremor a reminder of the life they had lost.
"I wanted to hold our baby… I thought we could—" Earn's voice cracked, barely audible as tears streamed down her cheeks. Her fingers clutched the thin blanket like it was the last thread holding her together.
"I know, I know," Fahlada whispered, gently rocking her wife. Her own body trembled with sobs.
"I wanted that too. I wanted everything for us."
Earn buried her face in Fahlada's shoulder, her body shivering as grief overtook her. Fahlada held her tightly, as if loosening her grip might mean losing each other too. In that embrace, Earn felt a flicker of safety. She clung to her wife like a lifeline, the only anchor in a sea of sorrow.
"We'll get through this. I swear we will,"Fahlada spoke with calm resolve, masking the torment inside. She was used to healing wounds with precision and care, but now stood helpless before a pain no medicine could cure.