Chapter 6 - The Clinical Interlude
The white, sterile lights of the St. Jude Medical Center emergency ward hummed with a flat, relentless B-flat that vibrated straight through the bones.
Thomas sat on a low vinyl stool outside Operating Room 3, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together. His grey shirt was ruined—wrinkled, stained with his brother’s blood across the knuckles, and smelling faintly of hospital disinfectant. He hadn't washed his hands. He hadn't moved in two hours.
The heavy double doors swung open, and a doctor in light blue scrubs stepped out, snapping off a pair of surgical gloves with a sharp POP.
Thomas was on his feet in a fraction of a second. "Doctor. How is she? How is the baby?"
Dr. Marcus Vance—no relation, though his tired, steady eyes carried the weight of someone who understood family tragedy—looked at Thomas for a long moment before letting out a slow, measured breath.
"Your wife sustained severe blunt force trauma to her lower back, a concussion, and three fractured ribs," Dr. Vance said, his voice flat and precise. "When she arrived, she was suffering from placental abruption—the impact began detaching the placenta from the uterine wall."
Thomas felt the floor tilt beneath his feet. "Oh God..."
"We took her into an emergency procedures suite immediately," Dr. Vance continued, holding up a hand to still Thomas’s panic. "We managed to halt the hemorrhage using heavy doses of magnesium and localized cauterization. The baby’s heart rate was dangerously low—down to sixty beats per minute at one point—but it has stabilized."
Thomas let out a ragged, trembling breath, covering his face with his blood-stained hands as a single sob escaped his throat. "They're okay? Both of them?"
"They are stable, Mr. Sterling," the doctor corrected gently. "But she is not out of the woods. The next seventy-two hours are critical. Any spike in her blood pressure, any sudden movement, could trigger full labor, and at thirty-two weeks with her current injuries, that would be life-threatening for both mother and child."
"Can I see her?" Thomas begged, his voice raw.
May you like
"Briefly," Dr. Vance nodded. "She's in Room 412. She's conscious, but heavily medicated. And Mr. Sterling... the police are downstairs. They've processed the video your nephew provided, but they need your formal statement regarding your brother."
Thomas looked down at his bruised knuckles, his expression hardening into cold, unyielding iron. "My brother isn't my family anymore, Doctor. He's a crime scene."
