Chapter 1 - The Flatline
The continuous, piercing scream of the heart monitor sliced through the chaotic noise of the emergency room.
Ethan was flatlining.
My hands moved on pure, adrenaline-fueled muscle memory before my brain could even fully process the absolute horror of the situation.
"Push one milligram of epinephrine and charge the paddles to two hundred joules!" I screamed, forcefully but carefully pushing the weeping pregnant woman aside.
She stumbled back, sobbing hysterically into her hands as the medical team swarmed the blood-soaked stretcher.
I grabbed the heavy defibrillator paddles, rubbed them together, and positioned them over my husband's pale, battered chest.
"Clear!" I shouted, pressing the buttons and watching his lifeless body jolt violently off the table.
We all stared at the monitor, praying for the jagged green line of a heartbeat to return.
Nothing but a flat, unforgiving red line stared back at us.
"Charge to three hundred, clear!" I commanded again, delivering a second massive shock that shook the entire bed frame.
A slow, erratic beep finally broke the awful silence, signaling that Ethan's heart had started beating on its own again.
The trauma nurses immediately rushed him out of the double doors toward the surgical wing before I could even catch my breath.
I wiped a streak of his blood from my cheek and turned slowly to face the pregnant woman standing in the corner of the room.
"Who are you, and why are you calling my husband your baby's father?" I demanded, my voice shaking with a mixture of terror and rage.
She wiped her mascara-stained cheeks, reached into her soaked designer handbag, and pulled out a damp, folded piece of paper.
"Because he has been married to me for two years," she whispered, handing the document to me.
May you like
My hands trembled as I unfolded the official, government-issued marriage certificate.
The document bore my husband's full legal name, his exact date of birth, and his genuine signature sitting right next to hers.
