Wedlock - Harry Styles A.U

fifty

happy nine months to wedlock :')))

*******

ONE WEEK LATER

Harry

The second the clock hits eight in the morning, I'm out of the front door and in my car.

I follow the same routine I have for the past week; driving the car fast but within the speed limit, half an hour to the hospital.

Just like every morning for the past week, there are remnants of white paint staining my skin and my hands are a little blistered from all the twisting of the screwdriver I've done; and my eyes are heavy from the lack of sleep but I feel okay.

Just like every morning for the past week, I shed a few tears as I stop off at the florist to pick up a bouquet of flowers, shedding a few more when I rest them on the passenger seat beside the hospital bag. I don't wait around for my emotions to clear, I just keep driving, only stopping when I've parked in the hospital car park.

I grab the bouquet of flowers and swing the hospital bag over my shoulder before slamming the door shut and jogging towards the main doors of the building. From being here so often, I know the route off by heart and I even have a routine. First I say hi to Maggie, she buzzes me in through the main double doors. It's a straight walk for a minute and then I turn right, then a left, then a left again. I climb three flights of stairs before coming out in the X-Ray department. Then it's a right, a right, then a left, then I keep going straight up I see Charlie. He expects me at these doors every day at 8:37 - no later and it's rarely ever sooner - so he buzzes me into the ward before I even get the chance to say good morning.

"145." I mumble under my breath. "145, 145" I keep repeating until the room number comes into view.

Just like the past seven days I've done this, I hesitate as my hand reaches for the door handle. I freeze and take a step back, mentally preparing myself for what I'm about to see because it's not an easy view nor is it one that I want to get used to.

I resign and sit on one of the many seats outside of the room.

"I just need a moment." I tell myself as if I have time to waste. My minutes are precious when I'm on a time limit. Seven hours, twenty three minutes is all the time I have left until I must shut myself away again and yet, I waste my time wallowing in grief and self pity.

Edora died that night.

Our baby girl was delivered - also not breathing.

A piece of me died that night when I heard the news; and a piece of me was revived when "She stopped breathing so we had to perform CPR" was followed by "After five minutes, she came back to us."; only for me to fall apart again when the doctor concluded his medical statement with "The long term effects of this are yet to be determined, we'll have to do several tests if she wakes up."

If.

That's how they told me there's a chance Edora might not wake.

I had asked them what they meant by that.

He said; "Edora's body has experienced a lot of trauma in the past several hours - severe blood loss, a C-Section, CPR which has resulted in a few broken ribs...The only chance Edora has at survival is this medical coma. It'll give her body the time it needs to heal but there's no saying if and when she'll wake. I think you should prepare for the worst."

At first I laughed because how was any of this happening? How was this my life?

And then I cried and they kept talking.