"Amara," the lead surgeon, Dr. Jones, said gently, stepping closer with a warm, careful smile, "your baby's perfectly healthy—six pounds, eight ounces. And he looks a lot like you."
Dr. Jones raised the little bundle slightly so I could see him, her voice softening as she continued. "You've just gone through surgery. Your body needs rest. Your family should look after him for now."
But she must've seen the panic on my face. The dread must have been written all over me, because her tone shifted again, this time more cautious and understanding.
"Your mother-in-law's been completely out of line, but don't worry about her and just focus on recovering. She's not going to hurt the baby."
No, she didn't get it. None of them did.
I watched the nurse inch closer to the door with my son. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest. I wasn't letting history repeat itself.
I reached out, grabbing the surgeon's white coat with all the strength I had left.
"Please," I whispered, then louder, "please don't hand him to my mother-in-law or my husband. You have to give him to Nurse Clara Smith. She's the only one I trust. Please."
Dr. Jones's brows furrowed, clearly trying to make sense of my desperation, but something in my voice must have gotten through to her. She patted my hand gently, reassuringly.
"The maternity nurse is probably more responsible than that old witch anyway," she said with a sigh. "Don't worry. I'll stay with her and keep an eye on your son."
Right then, the delivery room doors opened.
Aunt Clara came rushing in, breathless, and immediately scooped my baby into her arms, holding him tight against her chest like he was her own.
Eleanor stormed in right after her, face thunderous, barreling forward to grab him, only to be blocked by Dr. Jones, who stepped in between them without flinching.
Only when I saw with my own eyes that my baby was safe in Aunt Clara's arms did my body finally give in. The adrenaline drained, and the anesthesia pulled me under once again.
Darkness.
...
"She's still asleep? Are you kidding me? What kind of woman sleeps this long after giving birth?"
"I don't know what's wrong with that crazy old nurse," another voice snapped. "She's clinging to my grandson like a lunatic. Won't even let me hold him."
Then came that all-too-familiar condescending whine.