The sky full of stars, supposed to bloom in June, was delayed – just like the lawn. Aoife’s favorite spot during her daily walks was the area filled with stars.
With Linda by her side, supporting her due to her big belly at seven months, they recently went for a prenatal check-up, confirming the health of the two babies in her womb.
Aoife gently caressed her belly, her face displaying a dumbfounded expression, but with a hint of imperceptible tenderness – the love of a mother.
As she walked, Aoife would hum a song, one that Linda heard every day. She asked Aoife about the name of the song.
Aoife said, “This song is called ‘Wedding in a Dream,’ played for me by Ethan.”
So it was Mr. Snearl after all.
But the Ethan Aoife mentioned was long gone, not Finn anymore.
Standing at the roadside, watching the stars in full bloom, Aoife wondered when they would finally open up. The leaves of the stars grew rapidly, covering the rabbit’s grave she had built just a few months ago – even the brick was no longer visible.
“Linda, when will the stars finally bloom?”
“They’ll bloom late, but they will bloom for sure. Patience is key.”
But she feared she might not live to see it.
“Linda, when will my babies come out?”
“Probably in another month.” Carrying twins, for safety reasons, they would be delivered via C-section in advance. Pregnancy was no easy task, and Linda worried about how Aoife would care for the child, as she seemed as naive as a child herself.
But that wasn’t their concern. Finn had the means to hire nannies with plenty of money.
Twins are usually premature, and a seven-month-old baby could survive. Aoife could only think about it silently.
After a short walk outside, Aoife couldn’t bear it anymore; she had to go back. With Linda’s support, as they neared the door, she was suddenly struck by a severe headache, as if something had hit her head hard. Her ears rang, a warmth flowed through her nose, and she instinctively lowered her head, noticing a drop of blood falling onto her belly. Her vision darkened, and she began to fall to the side.
Thankfully, Linda held her firmly, her grip strong. She called out to Aoife, then to the house for help, informing them that Aoife had fainted.
The butler, who had already sensed something was wrong, rushed to the scene upon hearing Linda’s urgency. Aoife lay unconscious on the ground, blood trickling from her nose.
Pregnant and fragile, they could not afford to move her abruptly, so they lifted her gently.
Since Aoife’s pregnancy, a medical room had been set up in the villa. The butler watched as the house staff carried Aoife inside before immediately calling the medical team and then Finn, who was busy with work.
Due to inadequate rest in recent months, Finn’s knee ailment had worsened. With no time for a hospital visit, he endured the pain, only resorting to soaking his feet in hot water at home. These were temporary solutions as his knee trouble persisted.
Already limping, the pain further worsened Finn’s walk. He received the butler’s call while engrossed in crucial paperwork, dropping everything and rushing out of the office.
His secretary, holding a folder to discuss, intercepted him on the way out. Observing his urgency, she inquired, “Mr. Snearl, where are you going? There’s a meeting scheduled soon.”
“The meeting is postponed. I have something urgent to attend to.”
Finn swiftly opened the elevator without glancing back, descending directly to his car. In haste, he sped off to the hospital.
Within fifteen minutes, Finn arrived. While still en route, he called the hospital director to inquire about Aoife’s condition. It was far from favorable.
As he stepped out of the car, the hospital director approached him hastily, updating him on Aoife’s status.
“How is Aoife?”
“Mr. Snearl, Miss Powell’s condition is critical. We must perform a C-section to deliver the twins.”
“Is her life in danger?”
“The babies have reached full term, so there’s no danger there.”
“I’m asking about Aoife!” From the beginning until now, every thought, focus, and attention of his was solely on Aoife, above all else. He hadn’t even considered the twins in her belly, not out of neglect but due to Aoife’s paramount importance in his life.
The hospital director, startled by Finn’s grave expression, stammered, “Miss Powell suffered a car accident last year, which led to a blood clot pressing on her nerves, resulting in her mental decline. Now, with the clot spreading… surgery is imperative. However, it’s a high-risk procedure, compounded by her pregnancy. Our hospital’s neurosurgeons might not be up to the task, hence the proposed solution – deliver the babies first, then proceed with the brain surgery. But as of now, our success rate stands at a mere 40%.”
With less than stellar odds, Finn’s heart sank. Aoife was still in the operating room undergoing a C-section, with an unforeseen complication prompting a nurse to fetch blood supplies.
Linda and the butler were also present, but in Finn’s presence, they remained silent.
It wasn’t until Finn inquired, “What happened? Why are we here all of a sudden?” that Linda, who had remained by Aoife’s side throughout the ordeal, explained the sequence of events.
“Today, as usual, Miss Powell and I were walking in the yard when she suddenly had a nosebleed and collapsed…”
Everything seemed routine, except Aoife’s body’s abnormalities – a condition beyond anyone’s blame.
Finn sat by the entrance, waiting for almost forty minutes, as the doors to the operating room finally swung open. A nurse emerged, cradling two newborns – twins, their faces flush and mouths murmuring softly. Given their premature state, they were promptly placed in a warm incubator for safety.
Linda went to check on the babies, while Finn remained inside, anxiously waiting for Aoife. After another hour, Aoife emerged from the operating room, and Finn stiffly made his way over, his palms drenched in cold sweat. He knelt by her side, grasping her hand, tears streaming down his face.
The brain surgery was postponed in favor of conservative treatment, with observations first. However, surgery remained inevitable. Now, they awaited the final surgical plan, hoping for improved success rates beyond the initial 40%. Time was running out for the hospital and Aoife, with each passing day a battle against death itself.