“That is not an answer.”
A faint, humorless smile touched her mouth. “No. It isn’t.”
The beeping monitor filled the space between us.
Finally, she said, “You had significant hemorrhaging. We controlled it. You required transfusions. There was no hysterectomy.”
I absorbed that slowly.
No hysterectomy.
The possibility had been there, then. Close enough that she needed to name its absence like a blessing.
“And my son?”
“Currently charming every nurse in observation by refusing to sleep unless someone holds his hand.” Her voice warmed. “He is strong, Amelia.”
I covered my mouth, unable to stop the small broken sound that escaped.
Elena waited.
Then she placed the tablet on her lap.
“There will be a review.”
I looked at her.
“Of the delivery?”
“Of the delivery, the decisions leading up to it, the medication orders, and the conduct of everyone involved.”
The room seemed to sharpen.
“Medication orders?”
Elena glanced at Maya, who quietly slipped out and closed the door behind her.
When Elena spoke again, her voice was lower.
“Your epidural was discontinued without documented medical indication.”
“I know,” I said. “Cameron ordered it.”
“Yes.” Elena’s eyes held mine. “But that is not the only inconsistency.”
My fingers tightened around the blanket.
“What else?”
She inhaled carefully.
“Your chart shows a note entered shortly before active labor intensified. It claims you refused surgical intervention despite counseling.”
I stared at her.
“I never refused.”
“I know.”
“Who entered it?”
She did not answer immediately.
The silence was enough.
Cameron.
My husband had not only refused the procedure.
He had created a record that made it look as though I had chosen the risk myself.
For several seconds, I could not breathe around the pressure building inside my chest.
It was not panic.
It was the terrible effort of rearranging reality.
Seven years of marriage taught a person to excuse many things. Stress. Pride. Exhaustion. Miscommunication.
But there were decisions that could not hide behind those words.
A forged note was not confusion.
It was intention.
“Why?” I whispered.
Elena’s face changed again.
Not pity this time.
Concern.
“That is what we need to understand.”
