Chapter 3
Amelia's POV
The storm hit Los Angeles like it had a personal vendetta. Rain slammed against my apartment windows.
I was curled up on my couch, still staring at the pregnancy test I'd fished out of the trash, when three desperate knocks echoed through my tiny space.
Remy stood in my doorway, completely soaked, clutching a crumpled medical report against his chest. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his whole body shook—whether from cold or emotion, I couldn't tell.
"Amelia," he choked out, stumbling into my living room. "She's dying. Olivia's really dying."
He dropped to his knees in front of my couch, the medical report falling to the floor between us. In the dim light of my single table lamp, I could see tears streaming down his face.
"You know my mother's only wish was for me to expand the winery," he sobbed, his voice breaking on every word. "Without Olivia's father's investment, I'll go bankrupt. Everything Mom worked for will be gone."
I watched him fall apart, remembering all the times I'd held him through his worst moments.
Ten years of being his anchor, his support, his everything.
'This feels different,' I thought, touching my still-flat stomach through my oversized sweater. 'This feels like goodbye.'
He grabbed my legs suddenly, pressing his forehead against my knees. "Please, Amelia. Just this once. I'll owe you everything. After I get the investment, I'll dump her and marry you. I promise."
The weight of his head against my legs felt heavier than it should have. Like carrying someone else's burden for too long.
"This is the last time, Remy," I heard myself say, my voice hoarse. "The last thing I'll ever do for you."
His head snapped up, and for just a split second, I caught something in his eyes. Relief? Triumph? But it was quickly drowned by fresh tears.
"Thank you, Amelia! I'll never forget what you've done for me!"
'No,' I thought, watching him cry crocodile tears on my floor. 'You won't remember at all.'
After Remy left, I sat alone in my bedroom, the warm glow of my bedside lamp creating a small circle of safety in the darkness.
I pulled the pregnancy test from under my pillow, tracing the two pink lines with my fingertip.
"Baby," I whispered to my stomach, "just wait for mommy to finish this one thing. Then we'll leave this place and live our own life."
From my dresser drawer, I pulled out a tiny white onesie I'd bought in secret last week. The fabric was soft cotton, with little yellow ducks printed across the front. I'd hidden it like contraband, knowing Remy would never understand.
I folded it carefully and placed it in my overnight bag.
Then I picked up my phone and sent a text to Lily, my lawyer friend: If I don't contact you next week, please take care of... some things for me.
I couldn't risk mentioning the baby. Not when Remy might see my phone.
"Don't worry, little one," I murmured, one hand resting on my belly. "Mommy will bring you somewhere safe soon. We won't have to look at daddy's face anymore."
'One last sacrifice. Then just you and me, baby.'
The next morning, I stood in the sterile hallway of the private hospital. One hour until surgery, and my hands wouldn't stop shaking.
I caught Dr. Martinez as he was reviewing charts at the nurses' station.
"Doctor," I whispered, pulling him into a quiet corner. "I need to tell you something. I'm pregnant. About six weeks. Will the bone marrow donation affect my baby?"
Dr. Martinez stopped shuffling papers and looked at me with new concern. He pushed his glasses up his nose and studied my face carefully.
"Theoretically, bone marrow donation has minimal impact on the fetus," he said slowly, checking my pre-op reports again. "But we'll need to monitor you closely afterward. I'll arrange for an obstetrics consultant to follow up post-surgery."
I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders. "But my baby will be okay?"
"We'll do everything we can to protect both of you," he said, patting my arm gently. "Try to stay calm. Stress isn't good for either of you right now."
"I can't lose this baby," I said, gripping his white coat. "Please. Whatever happens to me, save my baby."
"I understand your concerns. We'll control the dosage and schedule an immediate obstetric check after surgery. Just focus on staying relaxed."
I nodded, pressing my hand protectively over my stomach.
'Hang on, baby. Mommy's going to get us through this.'
The operating room was blindingly white under the surgical lights. The smell of disinfectant made my empty stomach lurch as I lay on the cold metal table.
As the nurse inserted the IV line into my arm, I closed my eyes and let two memories wash over me.
Ten years ago, kneeling in muddy vineyard soil beside Remy, planting grape vines with our bare hands. His laugh when I got dirt on my nose. The way he'd kissed it off.
This morning, touching my belly and feeling that tiny flutter of life inside me.
'Baby, wait for mommy,' I thought as the anesthesia began to flow. My fingers gripped the thin hospital sheet. 'Don't go anywhere while I'm asleep.'
The surgical drill started up somewhere in the distance. I forced myself to stay conscious, terrified that if I closed my eyes completely, I might never see my child.
"Almost finished," Dr. Martinez said softly.
Relief flooded through me. The nightmare was almost over.
"Don't worry," the nurse whispered near my ear. "The baby and you are safe."
I managed a weak smile. "Thank you."
'Remy, this is it. The last time. After this, me and my baby will never bother you again.'
I woke up in darkness, my throat dry as sandpaper. The hospital room felt different—colder, emptier. My hand immediately went to my stomach, searching for that familiar flutter I'd felt these past few weeks.
Nothing.
I pressed harder, moving my palm in small circles. Where was that tiny movement that had become my secret comfort?
'Maybe I'm just still groggy from the anesthesia,' I told myself, sitting up slowly. 'Maybe I need to wait a little longer.'
But panic was already creeping up my chest like ice water. I fumbled for the call button, my fingers shaking as I pressed it repeatedly.
"Baby, baby, where are you?" I whispered, both hands now frantically patting my abdomen. "Please, just move a little. Let mommy know you're okay."
The silence from my body was deafening.
A nurse rushed in, her scrubs rustling in the quiet room. "Ms. Brook, what's wrong?"
"I can't feel my baby!" The words tumbled out in a rush, my voice already cracking. "I need the obstetrics doctor, now! Something's wrong with my child!"
She tried to reach for my shoulder, but I grabbed her wrist instead, my nails digging into her skin without meaning to.
"Please," I begged, tears starting to blur my vision. "Before the surgery, I could feel little movements. Now there's nothing. Is that normal? Tell me that's normal!"
"Let me get Dr. Martinez right away," she said, gently prying my fingers loose. "Try to stay calm. Sometimes after surgery, your body needs time to recover."
But I was already reaching into my overnight bag with trembling hands, pulling out the tiny yellow duck onesie. I clutched it against my chest like a lifeline.
"He was fine yesterday," I sobbed. "The doctor said he would be fine."