Chapter 2: The Amputation

When I surfaced from the abyss, I was staring at the pale ceiling of a VIP recovery suite on the top floor of Manhattan General. No flowers. Only the drip of IV fluids and the hum of monitors.

Outside the blinds, the city’s neon threw long, cold shadows across the walls.

A radiating agony flared from my lower abdomen. I didn’t need a chart to calculate the damage. The blood loss had triggered severe infection and multiple lacerations.

They’d saved my life, but my uterus was gone. I would never carry a child again.

The door clicked open. The dayshift charge nurse—a former colleague who knew me well—slipped in, and froze when she saw me awake, her eyes filling.

“Dr. Vance… you’re awake. Don’t move, the nerve blocks haven’t worn off.” She came closer, her voice thick. “Your son is in the NICU. Mild hypoxia, but he’s stabilized.