At the hospital, Winifred Dawson was rushed into the operating room. The three-month-old fetus was already unstable, and the forceful push had caused her to hit her abdomen hard.
She was covered in blood. The doctors removed her sticky, blood-soaked dress and dressed her in a loose hospital gown.
She had just come for a check-up that morning, so the hospital had her records. The doctor performing the surgery was the same one who had examined her earlier.
The doctor knew Winifred Dawson was allergic to anesthesia, which could be even more dangerous if used recklessly. They tried other pain relief medications, but they were ineffective and couldn’t completely numb the pain.
Winifred Dawson had already fainted from the pain, drenched in sweat, lying there as if clinging to her last breath. Her breathing was weak, and her heart rate was slowing.
The three-month-old fetus had begun to take shape. To expel it, medication would be needed to induce the body to do it naturally or tools would have to be used.
Clearly, Winifred Dawson’s body couldn’t expel it on its own. If the dead fetus stayed inside for too long, it could cause severe bleeding and pose a life-threatening risk. The doctor had no choice but to perform a minor surgery without anesthesia.
Fortunately, the fetus inside Winifred Dawson was small, making it easier to remove. If she remained unconscious during the procedure, it would go smoothly. But she woke up during the process.
The pain below felt like tearing; it seemed as if her internal organs were being displaced. She felt nauseous from the pain and wanted to move, but she was restrained by straps that felt like being pressed down by dozens of people. She could only move her fingers and eyes. Her eyes struggled to stay open; she felt an overwhelming drowsiness as if something was pressing them shut, urging her to sleep and not wake up.
She wanted to give in and sleep forever, but another voice told her not to sleep or she would lose something very important.
Something very important? What could it be?
The dull pain in her abdomen reminded her-it was her child…
She slowly came back to her senses. She remembered being taken by Liam Burkhart to a club hotel room where she hit a cabinet. The severe abdominal pain followed by a gush of blood left her unable to move on a floor covered with glass shards.
Now her child was about to disappear. Despite everything, she didn’t want to lose this child; she wanted to keep it.
“I…” Winifred Dawson’s voice was hoarse when she tried to speak. Her throat was dry with a bitter taste of medication, and the cold air around made her shiver.
“I want to keep this child. Can you help me keep it… please…” Winifred Dawson rarely begged anyone for anything. Her voice was so hoarse that it was barely audible.
Only the lead surgeon heard her. “Miss Dawson, we can’t save the baby anymore. Don’t be sad; you can have another one in the future. Remember this morning when you came in? You were planning to terminate it anyway. You’re still young, and the child’s father is dead.”
Yes, this child belonged to Leland Burns. She despised Leland Burns so much that if the child looked like him after birth, could she really pretend nothing happened and be a good mother? Was she really fit to be a mother? Could she raise a child well? She grew up in a single-parent household without ever seeing her own mother; did she want this child to follow the same path?
Moreover, she was naturally cold-hearted and not suited for motherhood. This child wasn’t born out of love but out of hatred-a fire that needed to be extinguished before it burned any further.
But at this moment, she still couldn’t bear to let go of this child; she wanted to keep it.
She couldn’t help but voice her thoughts but was brought back to reality by the doctor’s words.
She knew that the tiny seed inside her was gone before it even had a chance to bloom. No matter how much she couldn’t bear it, what difference did it make?
She could feel the blood flowing out of her body along with what remained of the child.
The physical pain persisted, but at that moment, the heartache overshadowed it all. She closed her eyes, feeling numb from head to toe.
The entire process was extremely tense, but fortunately, the surgery went smoothly. Winifred Dawson was moved to a ward afterward. She was malnourished; during pregnancy, she suffered from severe morning sickness and couldn’t eat or sleep well while the fetus absorbed nutrients from her body. Making it to three months had been a miracle.
After losing the baby, once she woke up she’d likely feel dizzy due to low blood sugar and malnutrition. Given her condition, doctors prescribed numerous medications and administered IV fluids throughout the day.
Her hand veins bulged from too many IVs; both hands were cold and swollen from wrist to knuckles where needles pierced into veins-just looking at them hurt.
Winifred Dawson wouldn’t wake up anytime soon. The medical equipment indicated no immediate life-threatening danger; everything seemed stable.
Mrs. Protich couldn’t sit still for a moment; she kept checking on the IV bags hanging above Winifred Dawson’s bed, worried that they’d run out and cause blood reflux into the tubes. She also kept covering Winifred’s cold hands with hers and moistening Winifred’s dry lips with water-dipped cotton swabs.
At this moment, Mrs. Protich treated Winifred Dawson as if she were her own daughter.
Besides Mrs. Protich, there were two other people in the room: Henry and Wesley.
They exchanged glances in silence within this hospital room-no matter how comfortable or long their stay might be here-it never felt like home; hospital quietness carried an oppressive weight unlike home’s comfort.
Winifred Dawson stayed in a private room-considered VIP-with all necessary amenities except for somewhat stuffy air tinged with disinfectant smell; otherwise odorless environment included air conditioning TV separate bathroom daily cleaning service ensuring even smallest trash bits got promptly disposed of
Henry stood by window gazing downstairs asking Wesley beside him “What do you think goes through someone’s mind? Repeatedly getting hurt yet never learning always helping forgetting… If I were him whether alive or dead wouldn’t matter if dead I’d sleep happily.”
Henry leaned closer whispering “Do you think our boss enjoys being mistreated likes playing hard-to-get more cruelly treated more he likes?”
Wesley shot him cold glance “Why don’t you try?”
Henry thought briefly then shook head “No thanks wouldn’t dare trying means certain death.”
“You always speak before thinking every word needs careful consideration understand?”