I walk into the surgical room dressed in a disposable green gown, a shower cap over my head. The chill in the room seeps into my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. Goosebumps rise on my arms and legs.
The room is nearly silent despite the number of people inside. The only sounds are the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the occasional metallic clinks of surgical instruments. There might be other sounds too, but I hear nothing—nothing except the silence wrapped around Jennifer.
She lies on the operating table, unmoving. Her belly, now large and taut, is exposed, glistening with antiseptic. A thin tube protrudes from her lower abdomen, nestled between her ligaments.
"Madam, we're ready," a voice announces.
It jolts me.
My eyes scan the room, looking for the source—then I find her. Mrs. Rauss's face appears on the screen of a 16-inch laptop, her sharp gaze fixed on the bed where Jennifer lies.
"Has her husband arrived?" she asks calmly.
"He has, Madam," replies a man in a surgical gown, gloves, cap, and mask.
She nods. "You may begin the procedure, Doctor."
The surgeon nods in return and steps forward to the center of the room where the team has already surrounded Jennifer.
"Let's begin," he says to them.
"Anesthesia?"
"Total."
"Heart rate?"
"Seventy."
"Blood pressure?"
"One-ten over seventy."
"Okay, good. Scalpel…"
An assistant places the scalpel in his hand.
"Abdominal incision."
He makes a vertical cut, steady and smooth, from below Jennifer's navel to just above her pubic bone—precise, controlled strokes.
"Uterine incision."
He moves deeper now, carefully slicing across the lower part of her uterus in horizontal motions. Each movement is gentle but firm.
"Breathe, sir."
A quiet whisper next to my ear startles me. I turn and see Mr. Paresh standing beside me in full surgical gear. His voice is soft, his expression reassuring. "Don't forget to breathe."
I nod and turn back to Jennifer, then inhale—slowly, mindfully—feeling the cold air rush through my nostrils, fill my lungs, and stretch my ribs. Only then do I realize just how tense my body was. Maybe Paresh is right. Maybe I really did forget to breathe.
"Breaking fetal membrane," the doctor announces.
"Taking the baby."
His hands move carefully within Jennifer's body, searching. Then—he lifts.
A tiny, fragile form emerges in his gloved hands.
"Clean the face."
A nurse gently wipes the blood and amniotic fluid from the baby's tiny features.
"Umbilical cord cutting."
"She's not breathing…" a voice whispers.
The doctor repeats, "Umbilical cord cutting."
Snip.
He then holds the baby by her legs and flips her upside down.
"What is he doing?" I hiss, panicked, unable to take my eyes off the scene.
The doctor gives a few quick, gentle pats on her back and chest.
My legs tense, ready to intervene, when—
A wet cough.
Then a sharp, loud cry.
My breath catches in my throat. Every muscle in my body softens. My vision blurs—tears well up without permission. I bite my lip, trying to hold back the sob building in my chest.
"Here is your baby, sir," a nurse says gently, guiding my trembling arms into position.
Through a curtain of tears, I can barely see her face.
"Congratulations, Mr. Bennet," Paresh whispers beside me. "She's beautiful."
I wipe my eyes against my shoulder. And finally—I see her.
She is beautiful.
She has my black hair and thin lips, but everything else belongs to her mother. Jennifer.
"Hey, baby Sophie," I whisper hoarsely.
She doesn't care. She just keeps crying.
"Please… let me see my grandchild," Mrs. Rauss says from the speaker, her voice unusually soft.
Despite our differences, despite everything—I want to share this moment. The joy is too heavy to carry alone. I walk over to the camera and lift Sophie gently, showing her to the screen.
"Oh… she's beautiful," Mrs. Rauss breathes, her voice cracking. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes shimmering. "Does she have a name yet?"
I nod, smiling down at Sophie. "Sophie," I tell her.
"Hi, little Sophie. This is granny…"
I wince.
"You are not—"
"We need to take her to NICU now," a woman's voice interrupts, saving me from finishing my sentence.
"NICU? Why?" I ask, alarmed.
"She's preterm. It's a standard procedure, just to ensure her safety."
I nod slowly, then hear another voice—this time directed at Paresh.
"We're ready for the heart surgery, Doctor."
Paresh turns to me. "You should go with her to the nursery," he advises.
"I… I want to stay here," I reply, unwilling to leave Jennifer.
Paresh offers me a small, reassuring smile. "I'll be the one leading the operation. I hope you can put your trust in me."
I hesitate—then exhale heavily and nod.
"Please… save her," I whisper, nearly pleading.
Paresh nods firmly. "I will do my best, sir."