Page 81 of Flawed

A beautiful redhead's eyes light up when she sees him. She rushes toward him and throws her arms around him then kisses his cheek.

My heart shatters into a million pieces.

He's moved on.

She's beautiful.

How could he move on when I'm carrying his child?

He doesn't know.

Of course he's moved on. I told him to stay away from me. I moved so he could never find me again.

A moment of insanity hits me as I wonder if I did the right thing. Should I have not been so set on keeping my pregnancy from him?

A blonde walks up to him. She throws her arms around him and kisses him, too. It makes me want to die watching all of these women touch him and knowing he's no longer mine.

I sob harder.

"Ma chérie, we're almost there," Mom informs me, rubbing my back.

But I can't stop sobbing. All I feel is pain.

The red light changes to green. My father pulls the vehicle closer to Luca, and I swear we lock eyes for a brief moment. My father drives past the intersection. I'm torn farther and farther away from the father of my child and keeper of my heart.

Dad turns the corner, and Luca disappears as a longer contraction hits me.

I shriek in agony.

"Almost there," Mom repeats, tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear.

It feels like forever. We finally arrive and my parents rush me into the emergency room. I'm taken directly to the delivery ward. My clothes come off, and a paper gown is placed over me, along with a paper blanket. A team of medical professionals comes in.

"If you want to stay, you have to scrub up," a nurse tells my parents.

Mom goes first then Dad. When they return, a doctor pulls metal stirrups out of the table and positions my feet on them.

My contractions come more frequently. I whine, "I need the epidural."

The doctor looks at me with compassion. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but it's too late."

New panic hits me. I'm not a brave soul who plans to go through labor without pain medication. I've heard those horror stories about the women who do that. That's not in my plan. I'm a wuss when it comes to pain.

The doctor sternly states, "You'll be okay, ma'am. Promise."

"No, no, no!" I refute.

Dad takes my hand. "You'll be okay, Chanel."

"No, I will—Oh God!" I scream as another contraction hits me. Then I claim, "She's crushing my uterus!"

"All normal. You're fully dilated. Push on the count of three," the doctor instructs.

I sob. "I can't. It hurts."

"You can do it, mon chou. Squeeze my hand," Dad encourages.

Mom strokes my head and takes my other hand. "Come on, ma chérie. Your baby wants to see you."

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