Emma
“Emma. Emma Harlow.” Dr. Sanders called my name twice. She didn't call me with the usual SM-47 but by my real name. That alone made me turn my head slowly on the pillow.
She stood beside my bed in the private ward, arms folded, studying me the way doctors do when something isn’t adding up. “What’s going on with you?” she asked quietly. “Why are you breaking down like this?”
I said nothing.
She checked the chart in her hand. “Your blood pressure has been rising since you delivered. It was fine before labour. Three days now, Emma. This isn’t normal.”
A tear slid out of the corner of my eye. I wiped it away without looking at her.
“You should have been discharged by now,” she continued. “Your friends and your son have been asking after you. They’re worried.”
That did it. I pushed
