Chapter 4 - The Missing Hour.
Leah went into surgery the following afternoon.
By then, the decision no longer felt rushed.
A second scan showed enough change that Dr. Patel independently recommended delivery.
That mattered to Leah.
It was the first major decision in days that felt like it belonged partly to her.
Before they moved her to the operating room, Mae came in to prepare the bed.
Doreen was sitting by the window.
Nathan stood near Leah’s feet with both hands shoved into his jacket pockets.
Simone pretended to read an article on her phone.
Mae checked Leah’s wristband.
Then she leaned close enough that only Leah could hear.
“If anyone asks you to sign anything after the medication starts, tell them you want to wait.”
Leah looked at her.
“Why?”
Mae kept adjusting the IV line.
“Because you should understand what you sign.”
It was a simple statement.
The meaning underneath it was not simple at all.
Leah nodded.
Doreen spoke from across the room.
“Is there a problem?”
Mae looked up.
“No problem.”
Doreen smiled.
“Good.”
Nathan walked beside Leah’s bed until the double doors leading to surgery.
He stopped there because staff asked him to change clothes before joining her.
He bent down and kissed her forehead.
“You’re going to be okay.”
Leah searched his face.
“Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Do not let your mother make decisions for me.”
Nathan looked hurt.
“She won’t.”
“I mean it.”
“Leah.”
“Promise me.”
He held her gaze.
“I promise.”
Leah wanted to believe him.
She needed to believe him.
So she did.
The operating room was bright, cold, and filled with voices that seemed to come from very far away.
Leah focused on the ceiling tiles while the anesthesiologist talked her through each step.
Mae appeared near her shoulder for part of the preparation.
Her presence made Leah feel steadier.
Then Nathan came in wearing surgical clothing and sat beside her head.
He took her hand.
For several minutes, all the tension of the previous week seemed to disappear.
Nathan looked terrified and excited.
Leah laughed once when his eyes filled with tears.
“You’re crying already.”
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
Then the doctor announced that the baby was coming.
A sound filled the room.
Small.
Sharp.
Alive.
Leah’s entire body reacted before her mind understood.
“That’s him?”
Nathan stood halfway and then sat again when someone told him to stay where he was.
“That’s him.”
Moments later, a nurse brought the baby close.
Eli.
Red-faced, furious, perfect.
Leah touched his cheek with one shaking finger.
“Hi.”
The word broke in the middle.
Nathan bent over both of them.
For a few seconds, the world became exactly what Leah had hoped it would be.
Then Doreen’s name entered the room.
Not Doreen herself.
Her name.
A nurse near the door said, “Mrs. Carver is asking when she can see the baby.”
Leah looked at Nathan.
He gave an embarrassed smile.
“She’s excited.”
Leah closed her eyes.
“Not yet.”
Nathan nodded.
“Not yet.”
The next hour came in fragments.
Recovery lights.
A blood-pressure cuff tightening around her arm.
Mae adjusting the blanket around Eli.
Nathan sending a picture to someone.
Leah asking for water.
Someone telling her to rest.
Doreen appearing near the foot of the bed even though Leah did not remember agreeing to visitors.
“You look exhausted,” Doreen said.
“I had a baby.”
Doreen smiled.
“Yes.”
Her eyes moved immediately to Eli.
“Let me take him while you sleep.”
“No.”
“Leah.”
“He stays here.”
“You can barely keep your eyes open.”
“Then Nathan can hold him.”
Doreen looked at her son.
Nathan hesitated.
That hesitation was small.
Leah noticed anyway.
Doreen reached toward the bassinet.
Leah’s hand shot out and caught the clear plastic side.
“Don’t.”
Doreen stopped.
The room went silent.
Nathan lowered his voice.
“Leah, she is only trying to help.”
“I said no.”
Doreen’s expression became carefully sympathetic.
“You are very tired.”
“I know exactly what I said.”
Mae appeared in the doorway.
“Visiting time is over for recovery.”
Doreen turned.
“I was told family could stay.”
“Partner can stay.”
Mae looked at Nathan.
“Others need to wait until she is transferred.”
Doreen smiled without warmth.
“Of course.”
She leaned toward Nathan.
“I’ll be outside.”
Then she left.
Leah looked at Mae.
“Thank you.”
Mae only nodded.
The medication pulled Leah under not long after.
When she opened her eyes again, the light had changed.
The room was quieter.
Nathan was gone.
So was Eli.
Leah’s heart started racing before she was fully awake.
She pushed herself up too quickly.
Pain flashed through her abdomen.
“Eli?”
No answer.
She looked toward the empty bassinet.
The pale-blue blanket was gone.
“Eli?”
A nurse Leah did not recognize entered.
“Mrs. Carver, please lie back.”
“Where is my baby?”
“He’s being observed.”
“Why?”
“Routine newborn checks.”
“Bring him back.”
“The nursery team has him.”
“Bring him back now.”
The nurse’s expression changed.
Not alarm.
Assessment.
Like she was checking a box in her head.
“Mrs. Carver, you need to remain calm.”
“I am calm.”
“You just had surgery.”
“I know.”
“Then let us do our jobs.”
Leah stared at her.
“What is your name?”
The nurse touched her badge.
“Rebecca.”
“Rebecca, I am asking where my newborn is.”
“He is safe.”
“That is not an answer.”
The nurse stepped toward the door.
“I’ll ask someone to update you.”
“Do not leave without telling me where he is.”
Rebecca stopped.
Then she said something that made Leah’s stomach turn.
“I’m going to document that you’re becoming agitated.”
Leah stared at her.
“For asking where my baby is?”
“You raised your voice.”
“I woke up after surgery and my baby was gone.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
Rebecca left anyway.
Leah reached for her phone.
It was not on the bedside table.
She checked beneath the pillow.
Nothing.
She reached for the call button.
Before she could press it, Doreen entered.
Leah stared at her.
“Where is Eli?”
Doreen closed the door gently.
“He’s fine.”
“Where is he?”
“The nursery.”
“Why?”
“You were exhausted.”
“So you took him?”
“The nurse agreed you needed rest.”
“I never agreed.”
Doreen pulled the chair closer.
“This is exactly what everyone is worried about.”
Leah felt cold.
“What is everyone worried about?”
“Your reaction.”
“My reaction to my baby disappearing?”
“Your inability to accept help.”
Leah stared at her.
“Get Nathan.”
“He went downstairs.”
“Get him.”
“Leah, listen to yourself.”
Leah’s hands curled into the blanket.
“Where is my phone?”
Doreen looked toward the counter.
“I don’t know.”
“You were here when I fell asleep.”
“So was Nathan.”
“Where is my phone?”
Doreen sighed.
“You are becoming fixated.”
The word hit Leah harder than it should have.
Fixated.
The same language she would later see in her chart.
Leah looked toward the door.
“I want Mae.”
Doreen’s expression tightened.
“She is busy.”
“I want Nurse Rowland.”
“Why?”
“Because she listens when I speak.”
Doreen stood.
“I’ll tell someone.”
She left.
For the next twenty minutes, nobody came.
Leah watched the clock above the television.
4:12.
4:18.
4:24.
At 4:27, Mae entered pushing Eli’s bassinet.
Leah almost cried from relief.
She reached for him immediately.
Mae positioned the bassinet beside the bed.
“He’s fine.”
“Why was he gone?”
“Newborn screening.”
“For over an hour?”
Mae’s eyes moved toward the door.
“Part of that time.”
Leah stared at her.
“What happened during the rest?”
Mae did not answer.
Instead, she picked up the chart from the wall holder.
“When you woke up, did anyone ask you orientation questions?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
“I told them my name, the hospital, the date, and that I wanted my baby.”
Mae nodded slowly.
“Did you threaten anyone?”
“No.”
“Try to leave?”
“No.”
“Say you wanted to hurt yourself or the baby?”
Leah recoiled.
“Absolutely not.”
Mae’s jaw tightened.
Leah’s fear returned.
“Why are you asking me that?”
Mae looked toward the door again.
Then she turned the chart so Leah could see part of the screen.
A new note had been entered at 4:05 p.m.
Patient woke disoriented and repeatedly demanded immediate access to infant despite reassurance.
Maternal attachment appears unusually intense.
Recommend continued observation for escalating distress.
Leah stared at the time.
4:05.
She had not awakened until after 4:10.
“That note was written before I woke up.”
Mae looked at her.
“Yes.”
Leah’s mouth went dry.
“Who wrote it?”
Mae scrolled down.
The author line appeared.
Dr. Celia Rusk.
Leah looked at her son.
Then back at Mae.
“They knew what I was going to do before I did it.”
Mae’s answer was quiet.
“No.”
May you like
She locked the screen.
“They decided what they were going to say you did.”
