Chapter 26

The hospital was a blur of movement, urgent voices, and sterile white lights. The moment Chan pushed through the emergency room doors, his heart slammed against his ribs, his breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. He had never run so fast in his life—had barely remembered the drive, barely registered anything except Alex is bleeding. Alex is in surgery.

He spotted Elliot first, standing outside the surgical ward, his face pale and hollow, his shirt still stained with blood—Alex's blood.

The sight of it made Chan's stomach churn violently.

"Where is she?" His voice was raw, unsteady, but demanding.

Elliot turned sharply at the sound, his expression tightening with something between relief and devastation. "They took her into emergency surgery as soon as we got here."

Chan's legs nearly gave out. He braced himself against the counter, dragging in a shaking breath. Surgery. Again.

"How—how bad?"

Elliot hesitated for a fraction of a second, and that alone was enough to send a fresh wave of terror crashing over Chan. If Elliot was hesitating, it meant it was really fucking bad.

"They're trying to stop the bleeding," Elliot admitted, voice rough, like he'd been fighting back his own fear for too long. "She lost a lot of blood in the ambulance. Her BP crashed twice before they even got her into the OR." He rubbed a hand over his face, his composure cracking at the edges. "She was in and out of consciousness, Chan. Barely lucid."

The world tilted beneath Chan's feet.

His hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. He needed something—anything—to ground him before the panic swallowed him whole.

"And the baby?" he forced out, his voice barely a whisper.

Elliot swallowed hard, eyes flickering to the double doors that led into the surgical suite. "We don't know yet."

Chan felt like the air had been sucked from his lungs. His stomach twisted violently, nausea rolling through him in thick, suffocating waves.

Not knowing was worse than anything.

Before he could even think, before he could try to process the words, the double doors swung open.

A doctor stepped out, her blue scrubs streaked with something dark—blood. Chan's entire body locked up.

"Bang Chan?" she asked, her tone urgent but professional.

He took a step forward, barely able to trust his voice. "Yes. I'm her husband."

The doctor exhaled sharply, glancing at Elliot briefly before focusing entirely on Chan. "Your wife is in surgery now. She has a partial placental abruption and is experiencing severe hemorrhaging. We've been able to slow the bleeding, but her condition is still critical."

Chan's breath stuttered. "What does that mean? Is she—"

"We're doing everything we can," the doctor said quickly. "But we need to prepare you for the possibility that we may not be able to keep the baby in any longer."

The words hit like a hammer to the chest.

"No," Chan whispered, shaking his head. "No, she's only 32 weeks. You have to—you have to try—"

"We are," the doctor assured him. "Right now, we're prioritizing stabilizing Alex. If we can control the hemorrhaging and her vitals hold, we may be able to delay delivery for a little longer. But if her condition deteriorates further, we'll have no choice but to perform an emergency C-section."

Chan couldn't breathe. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be real.

"What—what are the chances?" he choked out, desperate for something—anything—to cling to.

The doctor hesitated. "For now, the baby's heart rate is stable. That's a good sign. But Alex has lost a significant amount of blood. If she crashes again, we have to act fast."

"Crashes again? She's crashed once already?"

Elliot ran a hand over his face, exhaustion and fear warring in his features. "Twice," he muttered. "She coded in the ambulance for a few seconds, but they got her back. And then again when they brought her into the OR."

Chan's breath hitched, his entire body locking up. Twice. She had died. His wife had fucking died—twice. His mind flashed back to Jakarta and he had to shove the panic bubbling in his chest at the risk of losing her again. He had already almost lost her to Nathan and the complications that followed and even now that hung over their heads. It was his fault that they were even in this position and it made his blood boil.

The weight of it crashed down on Chan all at once, stealing the air from his lungs. His wife—his everything—had already died twice.

His Alex.

His stomach twisted violently as the words settled in. He barely registered the sterile walls of the waiting room, the antiseptic smell of the hospital, the rapid pounding of his own heart. It all blurred into one suffocating truth—if he didn't make the right choice now, he could lose her for good.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to look the doctor in the eye. His voice was raw, fragile, barely holding together. "What are the odds?"

The doctor exhaled, her expression unreadable, but Chan could see the hesitation there—the weight of what she had to say next. She was calculating how to tell him the truth in a way that wouldn't break him, but he didn't need it sugarcoated. He needed facts. He needed to make the right choice.

"Statistically speaking," she started, her voice steady but heavy, "for babies born at 32 weeks, survival rates are high—above 95% with NICU intervention. But they are still premature, which means they're at risk for respiratory distress, underdeveloped organs, infections, and long-term complications. We have a team in the NICU ready to act the moment your daughter is delivered."

Chan's chest clenched at the word. Daughter. He had a daughter.

It felt like a knife twisting in his ribs.

"And Alex?" His voice was rough, hoarse.

The doctor hesitated again. That was what terrified him the most.

"If we can stop the bleeding and stabilize her vitals, her chances of survival are good. But she's lost a significant amount of blood. If she crashes again, if her heart stops one more time..." The doctor's throat bobbed as she swallowed. "There's only so much trauma the body can take before it can't come back."

Chan's stomach dropped.

Only so much trauma.

He knew what she was saying. If Alex coded again, they might not be able to bring her back.

"What if we try to keep the baby in?" His voice was barely above a whisper, desperate but still holding onto a sliver of hope. "Is there a chance we can delay delivery and—"

"Keeping the baby in is only possible if we can stop the bleeding completely and her vitals stabilize," the doctor explained gently. "But given the severity of the hemorrhaging and the fact that she's on blood thinners, the likelihood of that happening is very low. The longer we wait, the higher the risk that she bleeds out. If that happens, we lose them both."

The words hit like a sledgehammer to his chest.

Lose them both.

A sharp ringing filled his ears. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms. His mind reeled, trying to find some other solution—some way to keep Alex safe without pulling their daughter too soon.

But there wasn't one.

There was only one choice. The one that would keep Alex alive.

His body trembled as he inhaled sharply through his nose, blinking against the sting in his eyes. "If you deliver now, what happens to Alex?" His voice cracked, but he didn't care.

The doctor's gaze softened, like she understood the weight of the decision he was about to make. "If we proceed with the C-section now, we can control the bleeding more effectively. We'll have access to her uterus directly, which means we can remove the placenta safely and minimize further blood loss. We'll also be able to immediately transfuse more blood and stabilize her much faster than if we tried to prolong the pregnancy."

Chan clenched his jaw. "And the risks?"

The doctor sighed. "There are always risks. Surgery itself carries the chance of further complications—infection, blood clots, organ damage. And because she's already hemorrhaging, she may need multiple transfusions." A pause. "But it gives her the best possible chance."

The best possible chance.

It wasn't a guarantee. But nothing ever was.

Chan's vision blurred, his heartbeat pounding in his skull. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Their daughter wasn't supposed to come this early. They were supposed to have more time.

But if he hesitated, Alex wouldn't have any time at all.

He sucked in a shuddering breath, his hands shaking as he looked the doctor dead in the eyes.

"Do it," he whispered. His throat burned, but he forced the words out. "Save my wife."

Elliot made a choked sound beside him, like the weight of it had finally hit him, too. Like he had hoped, just for a second, that there would be another way.

But there wasn't.

The doctor gave a quick nod before turning sharply on her heel and heading back through the doors. Chan barely registered the sound of them swinging shut. His breath came in short, sharp bursts, his entire body trembling under the weight of what he had just done.

He had chosen.

He had chosen to bring their daughter into the world too soon because it was the only way to save Alex.

He had chosen because if he waited—he could lose them both.

A sharp inhale stung his lungs. His legs felt unsteady, as if they no longer belonged to him. The world tilted, his vision narrowing. His heart pounded erratically, hammering against his ribcage like a war drum.

Then, suddenly, the edges of his world collapsed inward.

His knees buckled.

The panic seized him so violently that his body refused to function. A crushing, suffocating weight pressed against his chest, squeezing the breath from his lungs. The sterile scent of the hospital, the distant beeping of machines, the hum of voices—it all became too much.

His hands went to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his hoodie as if he could physically hold himself together. But it wasn't working. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't fucking breathe.

"Chan."

A hand grabbed his arm just before he hit the ground. The world blurred as Elliot caught him, steadying him, holding him upright. Chan gasped, his body fighting against itself as he trembled in his brother-in-law's grasp.

"You're okay," Elliot muttered, his voice strained. "Breathe, man. Come on—breathe."

But Chan couldn't. His lungs refused to work. His fingers tingled, his vision darkened at the edges. His wife was fighting for her life. His daughter was about to be born prematurely. He had no control. None.

A sudden warmth pressed against his palm—Elliot's hand, grounding him, forcing him to focus.

"Look at me," Elliot said firmly. His voice cut through the fog, sharp and commanding. "Chan, look at me. Breathe in—"

Chan tried. Failed.

"—Now out.**"

His lungs fought against the pressure. His body wanted to shut down, wanted to give in to the fear, but Elliot didn't let him.

Again.

Again.

Until finally—air.

It rushed into his lungs so violently it hurt.

His fingers uncurled from his hoodie. His shoulders shook as he sucked in another breath, then another, and another, the tight coil of panic loosening by a fraction.

Elliot exhaled sharply, his grip still firm. He didn't let go until Chan managed to blink back the blur of tears threatening to spill over.

A beat of silence stretched between them. Then Elliot's voice came again—softer this time, but no less steady.

"She's gonna make it, Chan."

Chan squeezed his eyes shut, his body still trembling. "You don't know that." His voice was hoarse, raw.

Elliot swallowed hard. "She's survived everything else."

Chan let out a weak, broken sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Elliot wasn't wrong. Alex had survived the military, an IED explosion, an attack that had nearly killed her. She had survived every single thing life had thrown at her.

She would survive this, too.

She had to.

The doors to the waiting room swung open again, and Mac stepped in, carrying two cups of coffee, his usual confidence gone. He looked exhausted, his face lined with worry.

Chan had never seen him look this defeated.

"I brought these," Mac muttered, handing one cup to Elliot and offering the other to Chan, who barely noticed it was there. His hands were still shaking.

Mac sighed, dragging a hand down his face before sinking into one of the plastic chairs. "Any updates?" His voice was rough, thick with something unspoken.

Chan shook his head. "They just took her back in. They're delivering the baby now."

Mac's shoulders slumped. He muttered a curse under his breath, rubbing at his temples. "Shit."

For a moment, no one spoke. The air in the waiting room was heavy, thick with the weight of too much uncertainty.

Then Mac's phone buzzed.

Mac instinctively reached for his phone, the vibration against his palm sharp in the suffocating silence of the waiting room. He barely glanced at the screen before answering, his voice rough with exhaustion.

"Kendra?"

"Mac." His wife's voice was tight, breathless. There was an urgency to it that made his entire body go rigid. "It's happening. My water broke."

His pulse slammed against his ribs.

Now?

"Kendra, where are you?"

"I'm at the hospital," she panted. "I was feeling contractions earlier, but I thought they were just Braxton Hicks. Then my water broke, and now—it hurts, Mac. It's bad."

The words sent a surge of adrenaline through him. His brain snapped into action even as his heart clenched with conflict.

This was good news. Kendra was full-term, their baby was ready to come into the world. But here he was, sitting in a hospital waiting room because Alex was fighting for her life, and Chan was barely keeping it together.

He dragged a hand down his face, his free hand clenching into a fist. "I'm coming. Just—just breathe, okay? Have they checked you yet? How far along are you?"

"They just examined me," Kendra said, her voice tight with pain. "I'm six centimeters. It's moving fast, Mac. I need you here."

Mac's stomach twisted violently.

Six centimeters. She wasn't going to be in labor for much longer.

"Okay," he said, already standing. His voice was calm, even though everything inside him felt like it was breaking apart. "I'm leaving now. I'll be there before you know it."

"Mac..." There was a crack in her voice now, a vulnerability he rarely heard from her. "Hurry."

That single word shattered the last of his hesitation.

"On my way, baby."

He ended the call and turned back to Chan and Elliot, guilt already carving into his bones.

Chan was staring at him, eyes still dark with exhaustion, grief, fear. He knew. He knew what Mac had just been told.

"You have to go," Chan said before Mac could even explain. His voice was quiet, but firm. "It's Kendra, isn't it?"

Mac nodded stiffly. "Her water broke. She's already at six centimeters. I have to get to her now."

Elliot exhaled sharply, rubbing his hands over his face. "Shit. You're not gonna make it back here in time if—"

Mac's jaw tightened. "I know."

If something happened to Alex while he was gone, he wouldn't be here. If things took a turn for the worse, if she coded again, he wouldn't be able to help Chan hold himself together.

And yet, he had to leave.

His wife was about to give birth to their child. She needed him, just as much as Alex needed him here.

Chan stood slowly, his movements stiff, weighed down with exhaustion. He looked up at Mac, and for a moment, Mac thought he might tell him to stay—that he needed him to stay.

But then Chan let out a slow breath, one that seemed to carry the weight of the impossible decision Mac had to make.

"You have to be there for Kendra," Chan murmured. "She's your wife. That's your kid."

Mac swallowed against the tightness in his throat. "And Alex is my best friend."

Chan gave a small, almost broken smile. "And she's my wife."

Mac's resolve cracked. His instinct was to stay. To make sure Alex made it out of surgery. To make sure Chan didn't break completely while waiting for news. But Kendra—his wife, his heart, the mother of his child—was about to bring their baby into the world.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Mac swore, voice rough.

Chan nodded, his jaw tight. "Go."

Mac hesitated just one more second, his gaze flickering to the surgical doors, his chest aching at the thought of walking away when things were still so uncertain.

Then he turned and ran.