Poppy, the assistant Terese had left behind, was pacing nervously, glancing at the door again and again, probably praying the doctor Sullivan promised would show up soon.
Finally, someone did arrive.
But it wasn’t a doctor.
It was a fucking delivery guy!
He stepped into the room, only to freeze at the sight of the blood soaking through the sheets. His face went pale. Hesitantly, he held out a plastic bag.
Something tumbled out—a sanitary pad and a Band-Aid.
“M-Ma’am… s-sir Sullivan said,” the guy stammered, “it’s just… It’s just postpartum bleeding. N-Nothing fatal. He said… clean yourself up… and stop using stuff like this to gross him out.”
Zareena’s POV
Poppy’s hands trembled as she shoved a bag into my arms, her eyes red and swollen from crying.
“Ma’am, I’ll transfer you to Hackensack right now,” she choked out. “Please—you have to hang on!”
But the pain was relentless. It tore through me like fire, ripping screams from my throat. My body was giving out. I could barely hear her anymore. Everything spun. Then—blackness.
When I came to, it was a jolt of agony.