“I can see that.”
He reached deeper.
Seconds later, the second infant was delivered.
“Female infant.”
Still no cry.
For a terrible moment, Ethan heard nothing except suction.
Then, behind him—
A thin, fragile sound.
One baby cried.
Ethan’s shoulders loosened by less than an inch.
“Baby A responding,” someone called.
“What about Baby B?”
No answer.
Ethan’s hands never stopped moving.
“Baby B?”
The neonatal physician’s voice came low.
“We’re working on her.”
Hannah’s blood pressure fell again.
Ethan looked at the surgical field.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
“Uterus isn’t contracting,” the resident said.
Ethan already knew.
“Hemorrhage protocol.”
“We’ve given four units.”
“Give more.”
Her life was draining into suction containers.
The anesthesiologist glanced at him.
“Ethan, she’s unstable.”
He rarely heard his first name in the operating room.
That frightened him more than the alarms.
“Start vasopressors.”
“Hemoglobin is collapsing.”
