Chapter 176

CHAPTER 2

Winter brought the slow season to Johnson’s Feed & Supply. The store was nearly empty most days, and today had been no different. Andrea had seen only one customer — Mrs. Kline, the sweet old lady down the street, who’d picked up some calendula seeds for her garden.

Andrea worked the register, her paycheck barely above minimum wage. With business so slow, the part-timer they usually hired had been let go, which meant all the extra work had fallen on her. And though she was grateful to still have a job while seven months pregnant, the exhaustion was becoming unbearable. The simple act of walking the aisles, talking to customers, and cleaning the constant spills of soil and feed felt like moving mountains.

By the time the second customers of the day walked in, Andrea was so tired she could feel it deep in her bones. A young couple entered, their voices carrying softly as they strolled through the store.

“Tulips would be nice. They’re in season,” the girl suggested with a hopeful smile.

“You could buy $500 worth of those tropical orchids,” the boy muttered, “and I’d still bet your mom would look at me like I’m not worth the dirt on her shoes.”

“She’s just... hard to please,” the girl sighed. “But you could at least try. Make an effort.”

“All I’ve been doing since the start is trying,” he snapped back. “This dinner’s just gonna make it worse.”

Their bickering quieted as they approached the counter. “We’d like some tulip saplings, please,” the girl said politely.

Andrea nodded, her body feeling heavier with every movement. “Just a second. I’ll get them for you.”

But as she stood, everything shifted. The world tilted. Her vision blurred, then darkened, and then flickered back to light. She tried to steady herself, her hands grasping at the air, reaching for something—anything—to hold onto. But there was nothing.

The ground rushed up to meet her.

She heard distant voices — panicked, worried — but they were fading fast. The darkness was pulling her under.

“Andrea! Are you okay?” The girl’s voice was frantic, but Andrea couldn’t answer. Could barely breathe.

“Call 911!” the boy shouted. “She’s pregnant—she—God, she’s not waking up!”

As the cold floor pressed against her cheek, Andrea slipped fully into the blackness, the sound of their panic the last thing she heard.

Andrea woke to the sterile scent of antiseptic and the soft, rhythmic beeping of a monitor. The fluorescent lights above her buzzed faintly, making her squint as she tried to adjust to the brightness. A strict-looking nurse stood beside her, fixing the IV line in her arm, her expression unreadable—though Andrea swore she caught the flicker of something like irritation.

Realizing her patient was awake, the nurse let out a sigh and turned on her heel, heading briskly toward the hallway. "Doctor Reid," she called out, her voice clipped.

Doctor Samuel Reid.

Andrea knew that name, knew the man. He had been her gynecologist since the start of her pregnancy, a rare kindness in her life. When he’d learned she was pregnant and had no real place to stay, he had helped her find the small, run-down apartment she now called home—a place she could afford, even on her meager salary. He was a good man. A kind man.

And yet, when he walked into the room now, his usual warm demeanor was clouded with something else. Concern. No—fear.

“How are you feeling, Andrea?” His voice was calm, measured. But she could hear the underlying tension.

Something was wrong.

Andrea’s breath hitched, her mind racing, grasping for the last thing she remembered. The store. She had been working. The couple buying tulips. The dizziness. The darkness.

Panic surged through her.

“Oh my God—the store! Doctor, I left it open! It’s been unattended all this time. I have to—” She tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through her skull, and her vision blurred at the edges.

Dr. Reid placed a firm hand on her shoulder, pressing her gently but firmly back against the pillows. “Andrea, you’re not going anywhere.”

Her heart pounded. “Please, Doctor. If something happens—if even a single plant goes missing—I’ll lose my job! I need that job!” Her breath came fast and shallow. “Just let me go for a few minutes—I’ll lock up and come right back. Please—”

“You’re still not getting it.” His voice was firm now, cutting through her frantic words like a blade. “Andrea, your blood pressure is dangerously high. 180 over 120.”

The numbers meant nothing to her. All she knew was that he looked afraid.

“There are complications,” he continued, his voice grave. “You and your baby—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his graying hair before finally saying it. “Andrea, you could both die.”

The words struck her like a physical blow.

Everything around her— the murmur of voices behind hospital curtains, the distant footsteps of nurses, the hum of machines—faded into a deafening silence.

Die.

She and her baby.

No. No. No.

Her mind screamed, but no sound left her lips.

Her arms fell limp at her sides.

Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths as she stared at the ceiling, unblinking, numb.

“You collapsed this time,” Dr. Reid went on, his voice softer now, as if he were breaking terrible news to a child. “Tomorrow, it could be a seizure. And if that happens…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

HELLP syndrome. Hemolysis, Elevated Liver Enzymes, Low Platelets. Words she barely understood but knew were a death sentence for her baby.

After everything.

After fighting so hard, after clawing her way through every hardship, life was still finding a way to push her back down.

Her fingers curled into the thin hospital sheets, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t even cry.

She wanted to scream. To rage. To ask why life kept breaking her, over and over again.

But she didn’t.

She just lay there, staring at the ceiling, silently pleading with a God she wasn’t sure even existed—please, not my baby.

She wished she could cry. She wished she could scream—pull her fists to her chest and beat against it until someone, anyone, listened. Until the universe understood how unfair this was. How it kept pushing her toward the edge of ruin, over and over again, never letting her breathe.

But she couldn’t cry. She couldn’t even speak. The weight of Dr. Reid’s words had crushed the air from her lungs.

He had been so clear, so gentle and careful—and yet the truth of his diagnosis hit like a wrecking ball.

Apart from antihypertensive medications and strict orders for bed rest, there was nothing more he could do for her.

"If your blood pressure spikes again, Andrea—if you seize—we’ll have no choice but to deliver the baby early," he said quietly. "And at seven months, the baby’s lungs aren’t fully developed. Our hospital doesn’t have the resources for that kind of care. We’d have to transfer the baby to a city hospital… somewhere with a proper NICU."

"Manhattan Public," he added after a long pause. "I have a friend there. I’ll give you his contact information. Stay in touch with him. And if… if the worst happens, you’ll need to be prepared to get the baby there immediately."

Manhattan?

NICU?

She didn’t even have money for the taxi ride across town, let alone the thousands it would cost to keep her baby alive in a city hospital. She didn’t have anyone who would take her. Anyone who would help.

Her job—God, her job. It was gone now. She knew it. Two days of absence without notice? Mrs. Abigail wouldn’t care about the reason. She’d find someone else.

But worse—far worse—was the one thing Dr. Reid didn’t know.

She couldn’t go to Manhattan. She couldn’t. The father of this child—the dangerous, powerful man she’d run from—was still out there. And if he found out where she was… if he found the baby…

No.

No, she couldn’t think about that now.

The tears finally came, hot and fast, spilling down her cheeks before she even realized she was crying. She reached across the hospital bed and clamped her trembling hands around Dr. Reid’s.

"Please," she begged. "Please, you have to help me. I—I can’t go to Manhattan. I don’t have the money—I don’t have anyone—I just… I can’t lose my baby."

Her voice cracked, and when she finally stopped, she was shaking so hard she could barely breathe.

"Andrea," he said softly, his face tight with worry. "You need to calm down. Stress will only make this worse."

But how could she? How could anyone stay calm when their entire world was falling apart?

Two days later, when they finally released her, she went home feeling like a shell of herself. Her pockets were far lighter than when she’d left—and not just because of the hospital bill. She’d called the Feed & Supply store from her hospital bed, and the answer had been exactly what she’d feared.

"We had to let you go, Andrea. You understand—it’s the busy season coming up, and we need someone reliable."

Reliable.

As if she hadn’t dragged her aching, pregnant body through those aisles day after day, cleaning spills and restocking shelves and standing at the register until her feet felt like they were splitting open. As if she hadn’t needed that job more than anyone else they could ever hire.

Now she had nothing.

When she stepped inside her tiny apartment, it felt colder, emptier than it ever had before. She closed the door behind her, locked it, and then stumbled to the couch by the window. She didn’t even bother taking off her coat. She just collapsed there, her arms wrapped around her belly, as if somehow she could shield the life inside her from everything threatening to take it away.

Bed rest.

That’s what the doctor had said. No more movement than what was absolutely necessary—bathroom trips, and nothing more.

But who would cook? Who would clean? Who would wash the clothes and go to the store and keep her alive while she tried to keep this baby safe?

Dr. Reid had looked at her with such sorrow when he’d said it. "I’m telling you what needs to be done if you want to prevent a premature birth. The rest…" His voice had softened. "The rest is up to you."

The rest was up to her.

But she had no job. No money. No help.

And she had never felt more alone in her life.

For one fleeting, desperate second, Andrea thought of calling him. The man who had done this to her. The reason she was here — alone, broke, hiding — seven months pregnant and barely hanging on.

But even if she wanted to, she knew he wouldn’t answer. He hadn’t since the moment his very public engagement to the diamond merchant’s daughter had been announced — an opulent, extravagant affair splashed across every society page.

She had lost count of the nights she’d cried into her pillow after that. The man she had loved — the man she had trusted — was already gone. Replaced by a stranger who had looked her dead in the eye and said, without a hint of remorse, "Of course I can’t marry you."

As if it had been the most ridiculous thing in the world for her to ask why she, his girlfriend, had found out about his engagement from the tabloids.

"My family would never accept this," he had said, his voice calm and patient, like he was explaining simple math. "But you’re very dear to me, Andrea. I’ll take care of you, as long as we’re together."