Chapter 4 - Paramedics Examine My Health While Vivienne Is Cradled By Denial
Within minutes, emergency medical technicians pushed their way past the deputies, wheeling a mobile stretcher straight into the kitchen to evaluate my physical condition and check my vital signs.
“Are you experiencing any contractions, Mrs. Marlowe? Has the heat from that appliance made direct contact with your skin?” the female paramedic asked gently, kneeling beside my chair with a diagnostic kit.
“I’m... I’m okay, just very shaken up, but my baby is still moving,” I replied, my voice trembling as I clutched my pregnant belly tightly.
Across the room, Vivienne was being escorted toward the living room sofa by a deputy, though she continued to protest loudly about her constitutional rights and my supposed mental instability.
“My son has suffered severe post-traumatic stress disorder overseas! He doesn't know what he’s saying!” Vivienne cried out dramatically to the officers, desperately trying to salvage her collapsing web of lies.
Reid ignored her entirely, walking over to where I sat and kneeling down on one knee so his eyes were level with mine, his calloused hand gently resting over my trembling fingers.
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“You’re safe now, Clara; I am right here, and nobody is ever going to hurt you or our daughter again,” Reid whispered, his voice cracking with emotion for the very first time.
I looked into his tired, battle-worn eyes, realizing that the man I had mourned for three agonizing weeks had somehow found his way back from the dead to protect us.
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