The days were long and quiet. Too quiet. Nancy felt like she was living inside a beautiful, empty glass box. Theodore was gone. A business trip overseas, his assistant had said. The penthouse felt huge without him in it.
She tried to read. She tried to watch the large television. But her mind would not focus. She told herself she did not miss him. She was just bored. The days felt heavier without his loud presence. That was all.
Her body was changing fast. The twins were growing. She felt tired all the time. Her back ached. Her feet were swollen. Sleep was hard to find. And when she did sleep, her dreams were strange and left her feeling more tired than before.
She was alone. The doctors and the cook and the trainer were paid to be there. They watched her, but they did not see her. Not really. Without Theodore, the loneliness was a physical weight on her chest.
---
The first pain came in the deep, dark part of the night.
Nancy was getting out of bed for a glass of water. A sharp cramp twisted low in her stomach. It was so sudden and so strong it made her cry out. She doubled over, gripping the bedsheet until her fingers hurt.
She tried to breathe through it. This is normal, she told herself. This is what happens when you carry two babies. Everyone says there is more pain.
After a few minutes, the pain faded. She lay back down, her skin damp with cold sweat. Her heart was beating very fast.
It is nothing, she thought. I will not panic.
But the next day, it happened again. This time, she was standing in the kitchen. The pain was worse. It stole her breath. She had to lean against the cold wall, her eyes squeezed shut, until it passed.
This is not nothing, a small, scared voice inside her whispered.
By the afternoon, she could not pretend anymore. A deep, sick feeling settled in her gut. Something was wrong.
Her hands shook as she picked up her phone. She called the number for Theodore's medical team.
"Hello?" a voice answered.
"I… I need help," Nancy said. Her voice was surprisingly calm, even though her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest. "I think something is happening."
Less than thirty minutes later, two people arrived. A nurse with a kind face took one look at Nancy and started working quickly. She put a cold device on Nancy's wrist to check her pulse. She put a thermometer in her ear.
"Tell me about the pain," the nurse said, her voice steady.
"It comes and goes," Nancy whispered. "It's low. And it's strong."
The nurse's friendly smile was gone. Her mouth became a thin, serious line. She looked at the other person with her. It was a short look, but Nancy saw it. She saw the fear in their eyes.
If they were afraid, then she was in real trouble.
---
The next hour was a blur of noise and movement.
People packed a bag for her. They talked on phones in low, urgent voices. The air in the penthouse buzzed with panic.
Through it all, Nancy felt a hollow ache in her chest. It was the space where Theodore should have been. She tried to call him. Her finger trembled as she pressed his name.
The phone rang once, twice, three times. Then a recorded voice told her to leave a message.
He was on the other side of the world. He was unreachable.
She was completely alone.
The ride to the hospital was a nightmare of sound and light. She lay on a stretcher in the back of an ambulance. A siren screamed over the city. Red and white lights flashed across the ceiling. She held onto the metal rail of the stretcher so tightly her hands turned white. She would not cry. Crying would not fix this. Crying would not save her babies.
---
The hospital was bright and cold. It smelled like cleaning supplies.
A doctor with a tired face came to see her. He looked at a machine beside her bed that showed two little heartbeats.
"You are showing signs of early labor," the doctor said. His voice was not unkind, but it was very serious. "The babies are not ready to be born. We are going to try to stop it."
Nancy could only nod. Her throat was too tight for words.
What followed was a flood of things she did not understand. A shot in her arm that stung. A cold bag of fluid connected to her arm by a long tube. Nurses telling her she must not get out of bed. Not for any reason.
They moved fast. They were fighting a war inside her body.
But none of their medicine could touch the cold fear growing inside her.
She was not ready. The twins were not ready.
If she lost them now…
She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing back a sob.
She would not let that happen. She could not.
---
Time moved strangely in the white hospital room.
The bad pains slowed down, but they did not go away completely. The doctor called it "threatened preterm labor." They had paused the storm, but the clouds were still there.
She would have to stay in the hospital, they said. In this bed. They would watch her and the babies every minute.
And still, Theodore did not call.
No message. No word. Nothing.
That night, Nancy lay in the hard hospital bed. Machines beeped softly around her. Wires connected her to screens that watched her babies' hearts.
She put one hand on her stomach. She could feel the hard, round shape of it.
She started to talk. Soft words, just for them.
"I am here," she whispered into the quiet room. "I am right here. I am not going anywhere. You just have to stay with me. Please, stay with me."
She did not know if they could hear her. She did not know if it helped.
But it made her feel less alone.
For the first time since this whole terrible journey began, Nancy let the tears come. They were hot and quiet. They slid down her temples and wet the thin hospital pillow.
She cried for the two tiny lives fighting inside her.
She cried for the simple life she had lost.
She cried because she had started to believe Theodore would protect her,and in her worst moment, he was gone.
And she cried because, even though it made no sense, a stupid, stubborn part of her heart still wished he would walk through the door.