The Breaking Point [POV: Nate]
The beeping of the heart monitor was steady, but I could already see the subtle changes in her vitals—her pulse quickening, her breathing becoming erratic as consciousness crept back in.
Hannah had been unconscious since surgery, her body weak from blood loss and trauma. The pain medication had kept her under long enough for us to stabilize her, but now that she was waking up, I knew it wouldn’t be long before the weight of it all hit her.
I checked her IV line, ensuring it was still intact, before glancing at her face.
A soft murmur slipped from her lips, barely audible, as her fingers twitched slightly against the hospital sheets. Her dark lashes fluttered, her brows creasing as though she was fighting the pull of reality.
And then, with a slow, shaky inhale—
Her eyes opened.
For a moment, she just blinked, her gaze unfocused, her pupils sluggish from the lingering effects of the sedatives. Her lips parted, her throat moving as she tried to form words.
“W-ho are you? W-where am I?” Her voice was hoarse, strained.
I stepped closer, keeping my voice calm, controlled. “I’m Dr. Nate Woods. You’re in the hospital, Hannah. You lost a lot of blood, but we managed to stabilize you.”
Her brows furrowed slightly as she looked around, confusion flickering across her face. I could see the way she was trying to piece everything together, how her breathing was already picking up as flashes of the last few hours returned to her.
Then—her body went rigid.
Her eyes darted down to her wrist, to the bandages wrapped tightly around it. Her fingers flexed slightly, as if testing the pain.
But then her hand moved lower.
To her stomach.
Her breathing hitched.
Her fingers trembled as they pressed against the thin fabric of the hospital gown. Her grip tightened slightly, her lips parting in realization.
Then she looked at me.
And I knew.
The panic in her gaze turned sharp.
Her voice cracked when she spoke.
“My baby.”
It wasn’t a question.
It was a plea.
I swallowed hard, steadying myself for what had to come next. I had delivered this kind of news before, but it never got easier.
“Hannah…” I hesitated for half a second, but she saw it in my face before I even said the words.
Her entire body stiffened.
“I’m so sorry,” I said quietly. “You lost the baby.”
Silence.
Then—
A sharp gasp, as if all the air had been stolen from her lungs.
“No.” Her head shook, small at first, then faster. “No, no, no—”
Her breathing turned frantic, her chest rising and falling in quick, uneven movements.
“Oh God.” Her voice broke on the words, a sob shattering from her throat. “Oh God—I killed my baby.”
She choked on her breath, her hands clenching at the sheets, her whole body trembling violently.
“I didn’t mean to,” she sobbed, her voice high-pitched, almost hysterical.
Her hands clawed at her stomach again, pressing harder, like she could will her child back, like she could undo everything.
She gasped between sobs, her body curling inward as if she was trying to hold herself together.
Then—
Before I could stop her, her fingers snatched at the IV in her arm.
She yanked it free.
Blood bloomed against the white sheets, stark and bright.
“Hannah, stop—”
“I need to die,” she sobbed, thrashing against the bed.
Her breathing was all wrong. Shallow, erratic.
“Please, doctor, let me die!” Her voice tore through the small space, her body shaking so hard I thought she might pass out.
She tried to sit up, but I caught her wrists before she could hurt herself any further.
“You don’t mean that,” I said, my grip firm but gentle. “Hannah, look at me. You don’t mean that.”
She fought against my hold, tears streaming down her face, her sobs uncontrolled, desperate.
“You shouldn’t have saved me!” she cried. “You should have let me go—I should have been dead! I was supposed to be dead!”
Her voice broke completely, her whole body collapsing under the weight of her grief.
She went still. Her arms trembled violently, but she no longer tried to fight me. She just… sank. Her chest heaved, her face buried in her hands as fresh, gut-wrenching sobs wracked her fragile frame.
I loosened my grip on her wrists, watching as her fingers curled into weak fists against the sheets.
She didn’t say anything else.
She just cried.
I stood there for a moment, letting her grieve, knowing there were no words that could fix this. Then, carefully, I reached forward and adjusted the blanket over her, ensuring she was warm. Her body still shook with silent cries, her breath still uneven, but for now—
She was alive.
And that had to be enough.
