Chapter 2: Back Before the Betrayal

When I opened my eyes again, the world was different. My hand flew to my belly, and I felt it—a flutter, then a kick. Something soft, alive, moving inside me. I gasped, heart pounding. My baby. She was still there. Somehow, I was back in my pregnant body, on the train, before it all went wrong. The familiar hum of the train filled my ears, the scenery sliding past the window.

This time, the kicks came hard and fast, each one sending a fresh wave of pain through my lower abdomen. I gritted my teeth, fighting to stay present, to not let fear take over.

But I didn’t cry out—not like last time. Instead, I dug my nails into my palm, grounding myself in the pain, determined to stay sharp and alert.

Travis—my husband—caught sight of my face and hurried over, worry etched deep into his features. “Lila, honey, you okay? You look a little pale.” He crouched beside me, his hand warm on my cheek, his touch both familiar and strange.

He squeezed my shoulder, guilt flickering in his eyes. “I know this trip was last minute. Mom’s been so sick, and I just… I didn’t want to leave you alone, not with the baby coming.” His voice was soft, but the words landed like stones.

He studied me, brow furrowed. “You’re still a few weeks out, right? The doctor said it’d be fine. But you’re sweating. You sure you’re not coming down with something?”

He twisted open the thermos and poured me a cup of herbal tea. Steam curled up, carrying a faint, bitter smell. “Here, drink this. It’ll help you feel better.”

I took a small sip. The second the tea touched my tongue, bitterness exploded in my mouth. My heart started pounding, cold dread flooding my veins. It was the same as before. My instincts screamed at me to stop.

This was just like last time. My mind reeled, panic threatening to take over.

Back then, after we left the house, Travis had patted his pockets, faked a sheepish grin. “Shoot, forgot my wallet. I’ll be right back.” It was only a few minutes, but it delayed us just enough. I’d waited by the door, anxious, watching the clock tick.

By the time we made it to the train station, the conductor was waving us through, warning the doors would close in two minutes. I was breathless, clutching my belly, praying we’d make it.

I’d had to jog a few steps to catch the train, and ever since we boarded, my stomach had been aching. Each jolt of the train sent another spasm through me. I tried to brush it off—maybe it was nerves, or the running. But the pain only sharpened, grinding deeper with every bump.

During pregnancy, I’d sometimes had cramps. For the baby’s sake, I wouldn’t touch any medicine—just sipped warm tea and toughed it out.

Every time the cramps came, I’d reach for warm tea, cradling the mug in my hands. I’d read somewhere that warmth could help, and medicine was out of the question. I wouldn’t risk it, not for my baby.

Travis was always quick to make tea for me. “Here, drink this, Lila. It’ll help.” His voice was gentle, but there was something in his eyes—like he was waiting for something to happen.

But as soon as I tasted it, the bitterness made it nearly impossible to swallow. I coughed, setting the cup aside, my lips tingling with unease.

Travis shrugged, a sheepish smile on his lips. “Sorry, babe. The tea on the train isn’t great, but it’s all they had. When we get to Maple Heights, I’ll get you a decent cup. Promise.”

I didn’t think much of it. I took another cautious sip, trusting him. After all, he was my husband. I tried to ignore the bitter aftertaste, telling myself it was just cheap tea.

But the pain only got worse. The baby thrashed inside me, and a cold sweat broke out along my hairline. My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped the cup.

Travis’s face twisted in panic. “Help! My wife—she’s going into labor! Somebody, please, is there a doctor?” The conductor’s eyes widened, and she hurried off to make an announcement.

I’d spent sleepless nights on my phone, watching video after video—what real contractions looked like, what to expect. This wasn’t that. My gut told me something was wrong, something much worse.

“Please, I’m not due yet,” I begged the conductor. “Can you call ahead and have an ambulance meet us at the next station? I need a real doctor.”

But Travis squeezed my hand, his grip tight and insistent. “Let’s just wait for a doctor on the train, okay? It’ll be faster. You’re in too much pain to wait.”

The intercom crackled. “Is there a doctor on board? Please report to car seven.” Moments later, a woman in scrubs and sneakers hustled down the aisle, stethoscope bouncing against her chest.

She flashed a hospital ID, the conductor repeating, “This is Dr. Madison Kelly from Silver Hollow Medical.” She looked barely out of med school, her face set in what she probably thought was a reassuring mask.

Madison chewed gum, headphones in, and strolled over to me without any urgency. She yanked out one earbud and pressed down hard on my stomach. I winced, tears springing to my eyes. Her hands were cold and impersonal, her gaze darting to her phone every few seconds.

She snapped her fingers at the conductor. “Scissors. Now. We’re running out of time.”

I clung to the armrest, voice shaking. “Please, the baby’s not due yet. If you take her out now, she won’t survive. Isn’t there any way to wait?”

I pleaded, “Just help me hold on until we reach the station. I can make it. Please, just help with the pain.”

Madison rolled her eyes, her voice sharp. “Look, I’m the one with the medical degree here. Do you want to live or not?”

She leaned in, her tone urgent. “You’re bleeding internally. If we wait, you’ll both die. This is your only shot.”

Travis’s voice broke. “Please, do whatever you have to. Just save Lila. She’s all I have.”

A few passengers nodded, some murmuring, “She’s right—save the mother first.” The tension in the car was suffocating.

Without warning, Madison snatched the scissors and began hacking at my clothes. Fabric flew everywhere. I felt the cold air bite at my skin as she left me exposed.

I tried desperately to cover myself, but Madison, without numbing me, simply took a pocketknife and sliced open my belly.

The agony was so overwhelming I barely registered the blade. My body arched, every nerve ending screaming. Darkness swallowed me whole.

Somewhere in the haze, a tiny cry—so faint it sounded more animal than human. I forced my eyes open, vision swimming, and saw Madison drop my baby onto a pile of jackets on the floor. My daughter’s arms twitched weakly, her skin an unnatural shade of purple.

Madison didn’t even look at her. “She’s too premature. Don’t waste time. I need to keep the mother alive,” she announced, her tone almost bored.

I wanted to scream, to crawl across the floor and scoop her up, but my body wouldn’t move. My baby’s tiny limbs jerked, then fell still. The world faded to gray.

The pain—physical and emotional—was more than I could bear. I slipped under, praying for it all to end.

I blinked awake in a sterile white room, the steady beep of machines the only sign I was still alive. The world was blurry, my body heavy as stone.

Travis sat at my bedside, face pale and drawn. “Lila, I’m so sorry. The surgery went wrong. You got an infection. They… they had to take your uterus.” His voice cracked, and for a moment, I almost believed he cared.

He reached for my hand, squeezing it. “Please don’t blame Dr. Kelly. She did what she had to do. You’re alive. That’s what matters.”

The rage and grief burned so hot I barely felt the pain as I staggered down the hall, determined to confront Madison face-to-face. Every step felt like a mile, but I wouldn’t let her get away with it.

I dug through old yearbooks, forums, even paid for background checks. The truth was worse than I’d imagined—she’d only started pre-med halfway through undergrad, hired people to write her papers, and her uncle pulled strings to get her an internship. She’d never even been in a real surgery before me.

Her whole resume was smoke and mirrors. She’d been an intern for less than half a year, and never once allowed to touch a patient. I felt my hands shake with fury.

Tears blurred my vision as I faced her. “You didn’t even check if I was in labor. You just cut me open. My daughter died because of you!”

My voice rose, raw and desperate. “Why? Why did you do it? I could have made it to the hospital. My baby could have lived!”

I choked out the words. “You’re not even a real doctor. I want my baby back. I’m taking you to court. You’ll pay for this!”

She didn’t even blink. “I’ve done plenty of C-sections—on animals, sure, but anatomy’s anatomy. If you don’t know medicine, maybe don’t question someone who does.” Her tone was icy, smug.

She whipped out her phone and started streaming, her voice loud and righteous. “I don’t run from emergencies. I do my job—even if it brings me heat.”

She turned the camera to the crowd. “Her baby’s vitals were gone. This isn’t TV—you can’t always save both. I did what I had to do.”

She straightened her shoulders, voice ringing out. “Say what you want—I’d make the same call again. I took an oath. I save lives.”

People watching the stream started clapping, some even shouting, “You did the right thing, Doc!”

Without warning, she played the raw video—no blurring, no shame. My body, my pain, on display for the world. I wanted to crawl out of my own skin.

It didn’t matter that the feed was cut; the damage was done. Screenshots, clips, and memes spread like wildfire. My humiliation was permanent now.

Crowds gathered outside the clinic, some with signs, others just there to gawk. News vans parked at the curb, reporters jostling for a story.

Someone in the crowd shouted, “Ungrateful! The doctor saves her, and she tries to ruin her life? What’s this world coming to?”

A man cackled, “What, you want to sue her for a million? Here, take it—bury it with your kid!” The laughter was cruel, echoing off the walls.

The circle tightened, people yelling insults, some snapping pictures with their phones. I pressed myself against the wall, desperate for escape.

I saw Travis’s familiar face and reached out, grabbing his shirt with both hands. My tears soaked the fabric, my only anchor in the chaos.

Someone in the crowd sneered, “You got stuck with her, huh? She’s a mess—look at her!”

Another voice chimed in, “She’s so fat, the doc probably had to hack through a pound of blubber. No wonder the kid didn’t make it!”

Their laughter was loud and mean, bouncing around the room. I wanted to disappear.

He gently but firmly peeled my hands from his shirt, then turned his back to me, facing Madison like a knight standing guard—but not for me.

He spoke to me like I was a child throwing a tantrum. “Lila, I get that you’re upset, but Dr. Kelly did her best. You have to move on.”

He raised his voice, as if scolding a misbehaving pet. “You’re making a scene. Apologize to Dr. Kelly, now. Enough’s enough.”

He grabbed my arm, whispering harshly, “You need help. I’m taking you to the psych ward. This isn’t normal.”

I yanked my arm free, heart pounding with betrayal and rage. I ran, not caring where, just needing to escape.

I barely made it across the parking lot before headlights blinded me. The impact was sudden and brutal. My world went black, pain searing through every bone.

Even in death, I felt every snap, every jolt. My body trembled, sweat dripping down my temples, as if the pain was determined to haunt me forever.