Page 175 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 1-4

Vincenzo went back out to the car, slamming the passenger door shut, throwing himself in on his side His glance went to where she’d been sitting. The towel on the seat was pale grey—except for the large bloodstain in the centre...

He felt sick suddenly. But not because of the blood...

Less than five minutes later he’d disposed of the car and was back inside the maternity unit lobby, pushing through the doors where Siena had disappeared.

A medic of some sort walked past him, and he grabbed his arm. ‘Possible placental abruption—where would she be taken?’ His voice was urgent.

The medic turned. ‘Follow me.’

Siena heard the words, but scarcely comprehended them. Yet they were clear enough.

Emergency Caesarean.

She stared, white-faced, heart thudding, the ice in her veins colder still, at the consultant obstetrician, summoned by the midwife, who’d said those words to her.

‘It has to be now. Right now,’ he said.

His voice was calm, but insistent.

The door to the examination room swung open and Vincenzo was there, striding in.

‘Vincenzo!’ she cried.

He came to her at once, lying there on the examination couch. She was aware she was hardly in any state for him to see her, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was what the obstetrician had just announced.

Vincenzo took her outstretched hand, squeezed it. Turned to the obstetrician.

‘It has to be a C-section delivery straight away,’ the consultant told him gravely. ‘The placenta is coming away and the baby is becoming increasingly at risk. Hypoxia is—’

‘Yes, I know.’ Siena heard Vincenzo’s voice cut across him, sounding not curt, but short. ‘Potentially—’

He didn’t complete the sentence, and Siena gave a terrified moan. Her free hand flew to her abdomen. As if her bare, splayed hand could keep her baby safe. Alive...

The baby she had never welcomed...

Her eyes flew to the obstetrician.

‘Do it!’ she cried. ‘Just do it now! Do whatever it takes!’

The consultant nodded, and she saw his glance go to Vincenzo.

‘I want him with me!’ she cried, and clung to his hand in desperation.

‘Of course,’ said the consultant. He turned to the hovering midwife. ‘Theatre One,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

After that it was a blur. A blur that was a nightmare. She felt herself being slid sideways onto a trolley and wheeled off. Her hand still clung to Vincenzo’s, as he kept pace with the trolley, and it was all that kept her going...all that she could hold on to in an ocean of terror.

So much more than terror.

Emotions poured through her like a tsunami sweeping her up, convulsing her, buckling her into a tiny piece of flotsam torn apart by the power of what was ripping her to pieces. Words flew through her head—fragments, shreds, rags and tatters—each one suffocating her with its terrifying intensity.

I never wanted this baby. I was resentful and resistant—appalled and self-pitying—angry at its conception. A self-indulgent, irresponsible conception, by self-indulgent, irresponsible parents. All I cared about was that my life was being changed for ever, that I was sacrificing my dream of art college again. I never wanted this baby...my poor baby...

And now...

Terror constricted her again and she could barely breathe.

The medics seemed to be crowding round her, talking over her, talking to her only to tell her what was essential. Not one of them was telling her the only thing she was desperate to know.

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