Thoren
The monitor faltered again twenty minutes later.
Only for a few seconds. Long enough for every person in the room to stop breathing.
The physician adjusted the sensor against Nevara’s stomach until our son’s heartbeat returned to its rapid rhythm.
“What caused it?” I asked.
“A contraction can briefly compress the cord or reduce blood flow.”
“Is that normal?”
“It can be.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only one I have until we see whether it happens again.”
Nevara sagged against me, too exhausted to join the argument. Twelve hours of labor had stripped the sharpness from her voice, but not her awareness.
“He is still safe?” she asked.
“For now,” the physician said.
I hated those words.
For now had followed us through every stage of this pregnancy.
She was stable f
