Crack.

The metallic snap silenced the room. The steel rail had sheared off the bed frame in my hands, the jagged edge slicing my palm open. Blood ran down the steel and blossomed across the sterile drapes like furious red roses.

The nurses recoiled. Preston’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. He stared at my mangled hand for two seconds—then buried his shock under contempt.

“What are you trying to prove? That you’re strong? If you put this into pushing instead of destroying my equipment, the baby would be out.” He scoffed.

“Keep pushing.”

He began a violent manual extraction that tore straight through to my soul. A weak, gurgling cry finally pierced the air.