Love Hanging By A Thread

Stella Smith, my husband's sister, eight months deep into her pregnancy, faced the threat of a premature birth.

My husband, Michael Smith, in a rush of panic, whisked her away to the hospital in the dead of night.

Yet, amidst the chaos, a call interrupted his journey. With a hurried promise of return, he left, leaving me to scramble for a taxi to rush Stella to the hospital.

Unexpectedly, her labor turned perilous, each contraction a battle cry against her weakening body.

In this moment of crisis, Michael, known far and wide as the "God of Obstetrics," was the only one who could possibly save her.

I kept calling Michael.

When the call finally connected, an unexpected voice cut through the line. "Michael is helping Mia deliver the baby, so what can I do for you?"

The voice belonged to Michael's first love, Tina Hunter, and Mia was the dog they had once raised together.

Time was a thief, stealing moments I couldn't spare. "Stella is having a difficult labor. Please ask Michael to come to the hospital," I pleaded.

Despite my desperation, Michael coldly answered, "Psycho."

The line went dead, and no matter how many times I tried, silence was my only response.

It wasn't until the devastating news of Stella's death that my heart shattered into a million pieces. In the aftermath, I sent him a message, a plea for a divorce.

After what felt like an eternity, his reply arrived. [I couldn't agree more.]

As Michael left us, I watched helplessly as Stella's face paled with each passing moment. I rushed her to the hospital once more.

Outside the delivery room, her agonized cries pierced the air. Each scream was a dagger to my soul.

The doctor emerged. His hands were stained with blood as he asked with urgency and shame, "Isn't Mr. Smith here yet? His sister has suddenly developed eclampsia and is in danger of death. Can you ask him to come to the hospital as soon as possible?"

My world shattered at his words.

I remembered the tragic fate of Michael's mother, who had succumbed to eclampsia while giving birth to Stella.

It was this very tragedy that fueled Michael's resolve to become an obstetrician.

He had been dedicating his life to conquering the beast that was eclampsia.

Eclampsia was a deadly childbirth complication, and its mortality rate was extremely high.

Under his skilled hands, the survival rate soared to an incredible ninety-nine percent.

He saved countless lives, earning him the revered title of "The God of Obstetrics."

Yet, no one expected Stella to face the same peril during her delivery.

My heart raced with anxiety.

With hands that shook, I dialed Michael's number again and again.

Finally, the line was connected.

"Michael!" I cried into the phone, panic lacing my voice. "Stella has eclampsia, and the delivery is in crisis. You must come to the hospital now!"

However, it was not his voice that answered.

Tina's soft and tearful voice pierced the air. "Lilia, even if you don't like me, you don't have to make up such a lame excuse. Mia is giving birth to her babies. Call me back later."

The call ended, leaving me in a daze.

I once met with Mia, a yellow Corgi.

The realization hit me like a wave. Michael had chosen to attend to Tina's dog's delivery over his own sister's.

Anger boiled within me.

But the desperate cries from the delivery room reminded me of the urgency of the situation. Summoning patience, I called Michael again. "Tina, no matter what grudge we have, human lives are at stake now. You'd better let Michael answer the phone quickly," I implored.

But Tina remained silent.

The phone was seemingly abandoned, so my pleas fell on deaf ears.

Finally, Michael was free to take the call.

His gentle inquiry about the caller was met with Tina's recount of my words.

Her voice was laced with aggrieved murmurs, "Michael, do you think she wants to harm Mia? Even if she doesn't like me, Mia is my dog! How could she do this..."

Hope flickered within me.

But Michael's cold retort extinguished my hope. "Tina, you are right. She is a psychopath."