I watched the nurse inch closer to the door with my son. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest. I wasn't letting history repeat itself.
I reached out, grabbing the surgeon's white coat with all the strength I had left.
"Please," I whispered, then louder, "please don't hand him to my mother-in-law or my husband. You have to give him to Nurse Clara Smith. She's the only one I trust. Please."
Dr. Jones's brows furrowed, clearly trying to make sense of my desperation, but something in my voice must have gotten through to her. She patted my hand gently, reassuringly.
"The maternity nurse is probably more responsible than that old witch anyway," she said with a sigh. "Don't worry. I'll stay with her and keep an eye on your son."
Right then, the delivery room doors opened.
Aunt Clara came rushing in, breathless, and immediately scooped my baby into her arms, holding him tight against her chest like he was her own.
Eleanor stormed in right after her, face thunderous, barreling forward to grab him, only to be blocked by Dr. Jones, who stepped in between them without flinching.