CHAPTER 3: THE HOSPITAL EMERGENCY
A sudden, sharp contraction tore through Clara’s sleep at 4:30 AM, sending a wave of absolute terror crashing through the quiet executive suite.
I dropped my legal briefs on the coffee table, rushed to the king-sized bed, and found Clara gripping the sheets with white-knuckled intensity, her face slick with cold sweat.
"Julian... it’s too early, the stress... the baby’s coming too fast," she gasped, her voice trembling as she fought through another agonizing wave of pain.
Without a moment's hesitation, I scooped her lightweight frame into my arms, grabbed our pre-packed hospital bag, and sprinted down the private elevator to the underground parking garage.
Within ten minutes, our town car screeched to a halt under the emergency canopy of Massachusetts General Hospital's maternal trauma center.
The medical staff moved with terrifying speed, wheeling Clara into a brightly lit delivery suite while monitors began beeping in a frantic, erratic rhythm.
"Her blood pressure is spiking dangerously high, and she's showing signs of acute placental abruption brought on by severe physical and emotional trauma," the attending obstetrician warned me urgently in the hallway.
My chest tightened as a cold wave of white-hot fury washed over every nerve ending in my body; my mother's sadistic cruelty had nearly cost me my wife and my unborn child.
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I stood outside the double doors, my hands clenched into tight fists, making a silent vow that Helena and Ethan would pay for every single tear Clara had shed.
"Save them both," I instructed the surgeon, my voice steady and absolute. "Spare no expense, utilize every specialist on staff, and bill it directly to my personal corporate holdings."
