Chapter 1 - The Coldest Room in Tacoma
The surgical lights above my face were blindingly bright, casting sharp, cold shadows across the operating room. My body was completely numb from the waist down from the emergency epidural, but inside my chest, my heart was hammering like a trapped bird against a cage.
Dr. Ellison stood over me, her gown covered in surgical plastic, her eyes resolute above her blue paper mask. "Corinne, I need you to focus on my voice. We are going to make three tiny incisions. You are going to feel a gentle tugging. I have three specialized neonatal teams waiting right beside us."
I couldn't speak. My lips were dry, cracking under the oxygen mask pressed against my face. Behind the surgical curtain, Nurse Tessa held my hand, squeezing it tightly with a warmth that felt like the only anchor keeping me grounded in reality.
"Breathe, Corinne," Tessa whispered, her thumb stroking the back of my knuckles. "You are not alone in this room. We are here with you."
I am not alone. But I was. The man who had sworn before two hundred guests seven years ago to honor and cherish me, the man who had laid his hand on my swollen belly every night praying for our three little girls, was sitting in a dim lounge downtown, clinking champagne glasses with another woman and mocking my pain.
"Baby A is coming out now," Dr. Ellison announced firmly.
A sudden, terrifying stillness fell over the room. There was no loud, triumphant cry—only a tiny, fragile squeak, like a songbird lost in a winter storm.
"Weight is two pounds, one ounce," a NICU specialist called out, immediately placing a microscopic breathing tube into the baby's throat and wrapping her tiny, translucent body in protective thermal plastic. "Transferring Baby A to the warming incubator!"
"Baby B is coming," Dr. Ellison warned, her voice growing tense. "Heart rate is forty! Hand me the suction immediately!"
I closed my eyes tightly, hot tears streaming past my temples and sinking into the surgical paper beneath my head. Please God, I prayed silently, my soul screaming into the void. Take my life if you have to. Take my breath, take my heart, take my future—just let my three little girls live.
"Baby B is out! Two pounds, three ounces! Resuscitation team, step in!"
"Baby C... position is transverse! We need a gentle turn," Dr. Ellison’s forehead was slick with sweat. Seconds felt like agonizing hours. The steady beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor was jagged, erratic. "Got her! Baby C is out! One pound, eleven ounces!"
For five minutes, the operating room was a chaotic tempest of medical alarms, harsh commands, and the rustle of plastic shields. I lay frozen, watching three clear acrylic transport incubators surround my bed. Inside each one lay a tiny, crimson miracle—no bigger than my hand—covered in wires, tubes, and glowing blue lights.
Dr. Ellison stepped close, pulling down her mask. Her face was weary, but her eyes burned with fierce compassion. "You did it, Corinne. Meet your daughters. Clara, Daisy, and Violet."
I managed to turn my head slightly, looking at the tiny, delicate fingers of Baby C—Violet—pressing against the acrylic glass inside her incubator.
"They are going directly to the Level IV Neonatal Intensive Care Unit," Dr. Ellison said softly. "The next forty-eight hours will be critical. But they are fighters, Corinne. They take after their mother."
"Dr. Ellison..." my raspy voice barely carried over the hum of the machines. "Don't... don't let him in."
Dr. Ellison leaned down, her gaze locking onto mine with an unshakeable, solemn promise. "Landon Pierce will not step one foot inside my NICU, Corinne. I’ve already flagged his name with hospital security. Focus on healing. We will guard your daughters with our lives."
As they wheeled my incubator-surrounded gurney out toward the recovery room, the heavy double doors opened. Standing at the far end of the hallway, holding a lukewarm cup of coffee and looking at his watch with a look of mild irritation, was Landon.
When he saw the surgical team, he smoothed the lapels of his expensive wool coat, adjusted his designer tie, and walked toward us, forcing a tragic, exhausted expression onto his face.
"Corinne!" he called out, his voice dripping with rehearsed emotion. "Oh my god, honey! I got here as fast as I could! The traffic coming back from the corporate meeting was a nightmare!"
Nurse Tessa stepped directly into his path, blocking him with her body.
"Mr. Pierce," Tessa said coldly, her voice carrying across the quiet hallway like a crack of thunder. "You are required to step away from the patient."
Landon blinked, his polished charm faltering for a fraction of a second. "What? I'm her husband! Those are my daughters!"
"You missed the birth of your three children by forty-five minutes, Mr. Pierce," Dr. Ellison said, stepping forward with her arms crossed, her blood-spotted gown still visible under her coat. "And per the mother's explicit legal instructions, your presence is strictly forbidden on this floor. Security!"
Two large, armed hospital security officers stepped out from the adjacent alcove, moving deliberately toward Landon.
Landon’s face darkened, a flash of pure, ugly rage breaching his handsome veneer. "Corinne! What is the meaning of this?! I went to work to provide for this family! Are you seriously throwing a hysterical fit right now?!"
I looked at him through the glass of my gurney. The handsome face that I had loved for nearly a decade now looked entirely hollow—a cheap mask hiding a sociopath.
"I heard the phone, Landon," I said softly, my voice quiet, flat, and absolute. "I heard Brielle. I heard everything."
Landon froze. All the color drained from his face, leaving him looking sickly and pale under the flickering hallway lights. His mouth opened, but no words came out.
"Take him out," Dr. Ellison ordered.
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As the guards escorted him down the hallway, Landon turned back, yelling frantically, "Corinne! It’s a misunderstanding! She’s just a colleague! Corinne!"
I closed my eyes, turned my head toward my three tiny incubators, and let the darkness of the anesthesia wash over me.
