The Edge of Life [POV: Nate]
The morning had started on a good note.
For once, I had gotten a full night’s sleep—rare in this job—and my rounds were on schedule. There were no major complications with my patients, and the break room coffee didn’t taste like burnt cardboard, which was an accomplishment in itself.
I walked through the hallway with a bouquet of lilies and daisies in hand, heading toward Abigail’s clinic. It wasn’t anything dramatic, just something to brighten her day. She had been restless lately, and though she hadn’t said much, I could tell she had been caught up in her head more than usual.
The teasing started before I even reached the nurses’ station.
“Dr. Jones is such a lucky girl,” one of the nurses teased, nudging her colleague.
Lisa, one of the ER nurses, leaned against the counter, smirking as she crossed her arms. “Careful, Dr. Wood. You’re making the rest of the men here look bad.”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “I’ll send them an apology card later.”
Lisa glanced at the bouquet. “Where are you taking those?”
“To Abigail’s clinic,” I said, adjusting the flowers. “Figured she could use a surprise today.”
Their grins widened, but I was already turning down the hallway when the intercom cut through the hospital chatter.
“Incoming trauma to the ER. Patient unstable. All available staff report immediately.”
The light mood disappeared in an instant.
Lisa’s teasing smirk was gone, replaced by a professional nod as she headed toward the ER. I pivoted without hesitation, shoving the bouquet into her hands.
“Drop these at Dr. Jones’s clinic for me?”
She barely had time to nod before I took off, weaving through the hallway at a fast but controlled pace, preparing for whatever was about to come through those doors.
***
The ER was a mess of rapid movements and overlapping voices. I stepped in, my gaze locking onto the patient on the gurney.
A young woman, barely conscious, pale as hell, her breathing erratic.
Blood smeared the sheets beneath her. A deep gash ran across her wrist, sluggishly leaking through the gauze a paramedic had hastily wrapped around it. A tourniquet had been applied—too loose to be fully effective, but enough to slow the bleeding.
She was losing too much, too fast.
I moved beside her, pressing two fingers to her neck to check her pulse. Weak, thready. She wasn’t just bleeding out—she was on the verge of slipping into shock.
“What happened?” I asked sharply, glancing at the older man standing off to the side. He looked shaken, his rough hands twisting together as he shifted on his feet.
“I—I was there to collect rent,” he said, his thick accent slowing his words. “She wasn’t answering, so I let myself in, and…” He gestured toward her limp body. “I found her like this. Blood everywhere.”
I nodded, absorbing the information quickly as I examined the wound. It wasn’t fresh—it had been several hours since she cut herself. If she had been alone for that long, her body had already lost more than it could afford.
A nurse handed me trauma shears, and I started cutting away the blood-soaked sleeve of her shirt, getting a better look at the damage.
“We need to close this now,” I said, keeping my voice calm but firm. “She’s lost too much already. Let’s get a full blood panel and start her on fluids immediately. Get a type and cross—”
The landlord suddenly spoke again, voice urgent. “Doctor… she’s pregnant.”
I froze.
My head snapped up, my hands pausing for a split second before I forced myself back into motion. “Are you sure?”
“I—I heard her talking about it once,” he stammered. “She was on the phone, saying something about it. I don’t know how far along, but I swear, she’s carrying a baby.”
I exhaled sharply, recalculating everything. If she was pregnant, her condition was even more critical than I had realized. Blood loss at this level was already dangerous—but for a pregnant woman, it was catastrophic.
I turned to the nurse beside me. “Get me an ultrasound machine. Now.”
As the nurse wheeled it over, I focused on stabilizing her, adjusting the IV drip while keeping an eye on her vitals.
Her body was shutting down. If she had been alone much longer, this would have been too late.
The moment the ultrasound machine was ready, I pressed the probe to her lower abdomen, watching as the grainy black-and-white image flickered onto the screen.
And there it was.
A small, flickering heartbeat.
Faint. But there.
The baby was alive.
I exhaled, forcing myself to stay calm, stay focused.
“She’s still stable enough,” I murmured, half to myself. “Let’s hope we can save them both.”
The landlord stepped closer, his voice breaking slightly. “Please, Doctor,” he said, his hands still wringing together. “Do what you can. If you save her, I—I won’t even ask for rent this month. Just help her.”
I glanced at him, at the desperation on his face. He wasn’t family. He had no obligation to be here, no reason to care this much.
But he did.
And so did I.
I turned back to my patient, my voice steady as I gave the next order.
“We are not losing her.”
