Chapter 1The Race Driver Who Wouldn't Drive

I was ten months pregnant when labor began in the dead of night.

My husband, Ryan, woken by the commotion, his face a mask of ice, reluctantly took me to the hospital in a taxi. The driver was clearly a novice; the car barely crawled. My contractions surged, growing more excruciating with each passing minute. I could only plead with Ryan:

“Ryan, you’re a race car driver! Please, you drive. Faster, I can’t bear this pain.”

His refusal was absolute, cutting through the air like a knife:

“Every woman experiences pain in childbirth. I’m a professional race car driver, not some chauffeur. I won’t drive for anyone!”

Before he could finish, my water broke. I crumpled into the back seat, tears streaming down my face as I pleaded again:

“Ryan, my water just broke! Please, can’t you drive? Do it for the baby, if not for me.”

He shot me a look of pure disgust and barked, “Pull over.”

For a desperate moment, I thought he was finally going to take the wheel. Instead, he simply opened the passenger-side door.

“It’s too cramped in the back. I’ll ride shotgun.”

I closed my eyes, a wave of despair washing over me. If anything happened to my baby, Ryan Brooke, then we were over. Done.

* * *

When we finally reached the hospital, I was a writhing mess of pain, every stitch of clothing soaked through with sweat. Only when I was lifted onto the gurney did a sliver of safety settle within me. My baby, Mommy will protect you!

“No good! Fetal heart rate is too weak! Get her to the delivery room immediately, prepare for C-section!” the examining doctor yelled in a frantic rush. I was whisked away, a flurry of hands pushing me into the operating theater.

Strapped to a myriad of monitoring machines, I was already fading in and out of consciousness from the agony.

“Patient has high blood pressure, critical condition! Get a family member to sign!”

The attending physician called my name, “Eleanor Vance, is your family here?”

I struggled to pry my eyes open, dimly registering the long corridor outside. My voice was a raw whisper, laced with tears, “My husband… he’s here.”

A nurse rushed back in, “We can’t find the patient’s family!”

“Call them! Get a signature, now!” the doctor ordered.

What was going on? Hadn’t Ryan just come in with me? How could he just vanish?

Gritting my teeth against the searing pain, I fumbled for my phone in my pocket. “Use mine, quickly!”

The doctor snatched it, only to be met by the robotic voice: “Hello, the number you have dialed is currently busy…”

The automated message looped, over and over. The doctor beside me decisively hung up. “Eleanor Vance, can you sign yourself?”

I nodded weakly, pain incapacitating me. Clutching the pen, I fumbled through the signature, then gripped the doctor’s hand. “Please, you must save my baby!”

“We’ll do our best,” the attending physician murmured, patting my hand before the surgery began.

There was no time for proper anesthesia, the IV drip offering only the faintest relief. I felt my abdomen being sliced open, raw and visceral. To avoid distracting the doctors, I bit down hard on my lip, stifling every scream. As long as my baby lived, I could endure anything.

Finally, the baby was out, but no cry met my ears. My consciousness began to fray.

“No! She’s hemorrhaging!”

I felt my lifeblood drain away, the bone-shattering pain fading into a strange, comfortable numbness. I was so, so tired, and a chill began to set in.

“My baby… where is my baby…?” I murmured, my voice barely a whisper.

The doctor’s voice broke through: “The baby is being resuscitated. No matter what happens to the child, you cannot give up on yourself. We are doing everything to save you.”

I knew, deep down, I was losing my child. A strange peace settled over me, and I felt my grip on consciousness loosen. Dying like this… it seemed fine.

“Patient’s heart rate dropping, losing will to live!” a medical staff member shouted.

Through the haze, the attending physician made another call. This time, it connected. The doctor let out a sigh of relief. My hearing, strangely, was incredibly sharp in that moment.

“Is this Eleanor Vance’s family? Her condition is extremely critical right now.”

Before the doctor could finish, Ryan Brooke’s voice cut in, sharp and impatient: “I already brought her to the hospital. Saving her is your job as doctors. What can I possibly do? Besides, I’m saving someone too!”

Then, a tearful female voice wafted from the phone: “Ryan, darling, I’m in so much pain…”

Ryan abruptly hung up, leaving only the droning dial tone.

I knew he didn’t care for me, but facing his utter heartlessness still sent a dull, throbbing ache through me, so profound it threatened to pull me back into unconsciousness. Then, a familiar voice pierced through the haze:

“My sweet girl, hold on! Your mother is waiting for you to come home, to be a family again. Your father and I don’t blame you anymore. Marry him if you want, just please, be well. If anything happens to you, your mother won’t want to live either…”

My mother’s choked sobs broke through, and tears streamed down my face. Yes, I had my parents. It had been years since I’d seen them, and they were waiting for me to come home.

“Patient’s heart rate is improving! Alert the blood bank, get blood supplies here!”

“Full resuscitation! Notify all departments, Level One mobilization!”

I felt a swarm of medical personnel surround me.

“Don’t you dare give up on yourself for anyone! Your father and I will always love you. We’re waiting for you to come home…” My mother’s voice flooded me with strength, and I felt energy surge back into my body.

My mother’s voice was cut short by the ringing of a phone. The attending physician glanced at it, then offered a small comfort, “Your husband is calling you.”