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It was beyond terrifying.
Freaking the fuck out, a nurse led me over to where the baby was, as they worked on stemming the bleeding.
She’s hemorrhaging.
She’s bleeding out.
You killed her.
She’s going to die.
Feeling faint, I let my gaze flick between the operating table my girlfriend was lying on and the baby in the incubator in front of me.
I didn’t even know what it was.
I was too fucking panic-stricken.
“Mom is fine,” the nurse continued to coax. “Don’t worry. She’s in the best hands. She’s going to be just fine. Now, come and meet your son.”
“Son,” I repeated, numb, as my attention flicked back to Molloy. “Aoife?”
I couldn’t see her anymore. Too many people in scrubs had taken up position around her for me to see.
“Molloy?” My heart gunned in my chest. “Aoife!”
“Here you go, Dad.”
Moments later, the screaming bundle was thrust into my arms.
“Congratulations, Dad. He’s a beauty.”
Struck fucking dumb, I stared down at the baby in my arms.
He was roaring like a bull, with his tiny hands balled into fists as he squirmed and stretched in my arms.
“Jesus,” I breathed, cradling him in my arms as my emotions got the better of me. “You’re here.”
And then he opened his eyes and looked at me.
And I was done.
My heart no longer beat for me.
For the rest of my days, it would beat entirely for the child in my arms.
Fuck.
______________________
Still draped in a blue gown and hairnet, I was removed from the theater, while my girlfriend and baby remained inside.
My heart was hammering.
My mind was reeling.
Breathing hard and fast, I sagged against the wall in a nearby corridor, feeling my heart thunder wildly in my chest.
What the fuck just happened?
