Chapter 14 - A Heartbeat Holds
The monitor woke me before the nurse did.
It wasn't loud. Just that steady, fast thump-thump-thump filling the dim room, and for a second I didn't know where I was. White ceiling tile. The smell of soap and plastic. An IV tugging at the back of my hand. Then I felt the band around my belly and remembered the procedure, the cold gel, the doctor saying we need to keep watching.
I put my hand over the sheet. "That's him?"
The night nurse, Dana, looked up from the chair by the window. She must have been charting. "That's him," she said. "He's been doing that all morning."
I didn't ask what time it was. Light was coming through the blinds in thin strips. My throat was dry and my abdomen ached low and deep, like a bruise I couldn't reach.
"Has the doctor been in?" I asked.
"She'll be in on rounds. You want some ice?"
I nodded, and she handed me the cup. I let a chip melt on my tongue and just listened. After two days of people asking me what happened on those stairs, that sound was the first thing that didn't want anything from me.
Dr. Patel came in around eight with a resident trailing her. She pulled the curtain half-closed and checked the strip printing out beside the bed.
"Elena," she said, "I have an update, and I want to be clear."
I set the ice down. "Okay."
"Your baby is alive and stable right now. Heart rate is reassuring. Movement is back within range." She glanced at the monitor, then back at me. "Because of the fall and the bleeding we had, I'm documenting him as high-risk for preterm labor. That means we keep you one more night for observation, then strict pelvic rest at home. No lifting. No stairs if you can avoid it."
I breathed out. I hadn't realized I'd been holding it.
"So he's... he's going to be okay?" I asked.
"He's stable," she said carefully. "That's what we can say today. We'll keep watching him close. You did the right thing coming in when you did."
The resident nodded and left the room. Dr. Patel stayed a second longer and put her hand lightly on the bedrail. "Any contractions, leaking, less movement — you come straight back. No waiting. You understand?"
"Yes," I said. "Thank you."
When she left, Dana printed the little strip with his heartbeat on it and tore it off. She handed it to me without making a big thing of it.
I held that paper with both hands. The black line jumped up and down across it, sharp and uneven and alive. Tears came up so fast I couldn't stop them, but I didn't sob. I just wiped my cheeks with the back of my wrist and kept looking at it.
"Hey," Dana said quietly. She pulled a tissue from the box and set it near my hand. "That's allowed."
I laughed a little, which hurt. "I thought I lost him on that floor."
"You didn't," she said. "He's still here."
Later that morning the patient advocate knocked. Her name was Ms. Carter. She wore a gray cardigan and carried a folder, not a clipboard, like she didn't want to look official.
She asked if it was okay to sit, and I said yes.
"I talked to legal aid like you asked," she said. "I'm not a lawyer, but I can give you the referrals. In this county, you can't be fired for reporting a workplace injury or for cooperating with the sheriff. And you can file a wage claim if any pay is held back. No fee for the first consult."
She slid a card across the tray table. "You don't have to decide anything today. I just wanted you to have it in writing."
I picked up the card. The edges were soft. "The house... they pay me through the estate account. If the wedding's off, I don't know if —"
"That's exactly what the claim process is for," she said. "It protects you while things shake out. Keep copies of your hours. Keep copies of everything medical."
I nodded. My hand went back to the heartbeat strip on my blanket. "I want to keep working if I can. I just can't go back there the way it was."
"You don't have to," she said.
After she left, Dana helped me to the bathroom and back. My legs shook. She didn't rush me. When I was back in bed, she checked my vitals and said the doctor would sign the consent form for me to attend the viewing if I wanted, by wheelchair, with a nurse escort.
"The sheriff called the desk," she said. "They have it scheduled for tomorrow. They said you can say no."
I looked at the monitor. Thump-thump-thump. Steady.
For three days I'd gone back and forth. Part of me didn't want to see it. I knew what I felt on those stairs. I didn't need a camera to tell me. But I was tired of two stories going around that house while I was stuck in this bed.
I folded the heartbeat strip in half and slipped it into the pocket of the hospital gown.
"Tell them yes," I said. "I'll watch it once. With the sheriff. Whatever it shows."
May you like
Dana wrote it down. "Once, with the sheriff. I got it."
I laid back against the pillow and rested my hand where the band held tight. He moved then, just a small roll under my palm, and I closed my eyes and stayed still so I wouldn't miss it.
