Rough Arrivals
She could be dying.
Correction. A half hour ago she'd definitely been dying.
The twins had come out fine. They were beautiful and strong and perfect. They'd been taken away quickly though as soon as the doctor had called for a stitch kit and extra blood.
They'd nearly torn her in half, and the bleeding hadn't stopped. He could barely remember anything else except for the blood, and how tired Pia had looked, so grey and faded, before they'd shooed him out of the room even though he'd protested. Because if his wife was going to die he wasn't allowed to be there apparently.
She was in a coma. The twins were somewhere else and he couldn't bring himself to care about anything except Pia. She'd already had two blood transfusions and it wasn't reacting to her system correctly, and with the trauma of giving birth to two babies...her body had forced itself asleep and the doctor's wouldn't give him a reasonable answer on whether she'd wake up or not.
He was terrified.
He looks through his phone, brushing his thumb across Pia's knuckles, holding her hand as the other one shakes from exhaustion and fear as he dials the number, just wishing that they'd pick up so he wouldn't have to do this a second time.