Page 31 of One Little Mistake

My breathing quickens. So does my heart rate. The monitor starts to beep louder, faster. I want to rip the cord out just to shut it up.

“Hey! Someone!” I try to yell, but all that comes out is a dry, broken rasp. My throat is sandpaper. My whole body aches. “Someone!” I manage again, through tears—but it’s barely louder than a whisper.

The panic builds. I can’t just lie here and wait for someone to show up. I need to know where my baby is. I need to see him.

I summon every last ounce of strength, push through the sharp pain in my lower abdomen, and roll onto my side.

I lie still for a moment. Breathe in. Breathe out. Just make it to the door. That’s all.

But I misjudge my strength. Instead of getting out of bed and steadying myself along the wall, I collapse straight onto the cold floor, helpless.

The IV rips from my arm.

Tears stream down my face. A soft sob escapes my throat.

“Help me...”

That’s how the nurse finds me. Crumpled on the hospital floor, whispering for help.

“Where’s my baby? What happened to him?” I grab the nurse’s wrist, trying to find an answer in her pale gray eyes.

“Let me help you back into bed. Hold on to me,” she says, completely ignoring my questions as she tries to lift me off the floor.

“Please… just tell me my baby is okay,” I croak. I can’t move, and despair is consuming me like a wave crashing over my head.

“I just got back from medical leave. I’m afraid I don’t know your case yet,” she says apologetically, and I desperately want to believe her—that the staff isn’t hiding the truth from me.

I try not to think the worst. My baby is alive. I would’ve felt it if something happened to him. That’s what they always say about a mother’s instinct, right?

“I’ll call your attending physician. He’ll explain everything,” she says. “Now come on, carefully... like that. You really shouldn’t be wandering around in your condition.” She mutters the last part under her breath as I manage to stand, barely.

With her help, I make it back into bed and lie there, heart pounding, waiting for the doctor. Every second stretches into forever. I try to remember something—anything—about thedelivery. I think… the last thing I remember was a baby’s cry. High-pitched and piercing. Or did I imagine it?

The uncertainty is unbearable. I stare at the ceiling and count the seconds, trying to keep my mind from spiraling.

When a man in his forties finally walks in, I tense up immediately, bracing for bad news. I watch him closely, trying to read his face.

“Well, Miss Hale, glad to see you awake. You gave us all quite the scare. How are you feeling?” He shines a light into my eyes and asks me to follow it. They check my blood pressure, temperature, and ask a few basic memory questions. Then he adjusts my IV. I still don’t ask the question that’s been burning inside me. I watch his every move, waiting. Finally, I gather the courage.

“Doctor, please…” I clear my throat and close my eyes. “My baby… is he okay?” My voice breaks, a knot tightening in my throat.

“Don’t worry. Your son is perfectly healthy. He’s in the nursery wing, just waiting for his mom to recover so she can take him home.”

I exhale, relief flooding me. My baby is alive.

“Can I see him?” I ask, hope rising in my chest.

“I’m sorry, that’s not allowed right now. The nursery is in a separate building. But maybe your husband can bring you some pictures.”

“Husband?” I let out a faint, sad laugh. “I’m not married.”

“Oh—my apologies. I assumed Max was your husband. That’s how he introduced himself.”

“Max? He’s here?” My voice trembles.

“He stopped by a few times. He seemed really worried about you.”

“Really?” I ask in disbelief.

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