I CAME BACK FOR BLOOD

Seraphina's POV The first thing I hear when my eyes flutter open is a quiet, almost apologetic voice. "Mrs. Ashford... I'm very sorry." I blink against the harsh white hospital lights, my head pounding, body aching in ways I can barely process. My stomach feels hollow. Empty. "I... what?" My voice is hoarse, small, like I'm speaking through a fog. I try to sit up, but my arms feel heavy, uncooperative. A man in a crisp white coat steps closer. Dr. Harris. I've seen him only briefly, but his weary eyes are etched with concern though concern can only take you so far. "Mrs. Ashford," he says again, slowly, carefully, "I need you to understand" I cut him off with a shaky laugh. "Understand what?" My hands tremble as I press them to my stomach. "Where is my baby?" He looks down, swallowing. "The baby... didn't survive." The words feel unreal. My stomach twists violently, my chest tightens, and my hands clutch the hospital sheets until my knuckles turn white. "No," I whisper, and the word is so small it almost disappears. "It's not possible. I... I was fine. I felt it. I... I was alive." Dr. Harris shifts, uncomfortable. "I know you are, but... the bleeding was severe. We did everything we could, but..." "You did everything?!" I cry, voice cracking, tears already streaming down my face. "I was screaming! I was bleeding! I needed help! And you-" "Please," he interrupts gently, "I know this is hard. I..." "No!" I scream, cutting him off. "You waited!" My voice echoes, bouncing off the sterile walls. "You all waited!" Dr. Harris flinches, as if my anger has struck him physically. "We... we were following instructions." I stare at him, my vision blurring with tears. "Instructions? From whom?" He doesn't answer immediately, only looks down, jaw tight. "From... the Ashford family." I feel my stomach drop further, if that was even possible. My hands tighten around the sheets as if I could hold onto something, anything solid enough to stop the world from spinning. "No," I whisper, my voice breaking. "No... they can't...Julian...he..." "Mr. Ashford was notified," Dr. Harris says quietly. "He... he hasn't arrived yet." The silence that follows is deafening. My chest feels like it's being crushed from all sides. My body shakes violently, my tears wetting my cheeks, my heart pounding in a rhythm that refuses to slow. "Not yet," I repeat bitterly. "He knew, and he hasn't come. Not even to hold me. Not even to... to care." Dr. Harris doesn't speak. He only looks at me with those sad, tired eyes, the kind of look that says he wishes he could change the world, but knows he can't. I press my face into the pillow. "I needed him," I whisper. "I needed my baby... and I had neither." The door opens, and a nurse enters, her name tag reading Nurse Elaine. She's young, her hair pulled into a tight bun, her face strained, like she's uncomfortable but too professional to show it. "Mrs. Ashford," she says softly. "How are you feeling?" I look at her, my hands still clutching the sheet. "How do you think I'm feeling?" I whisper bitterly. "My baby is gone." She hesitates, her eyes flicking to Dr. Harris, then back to me. "I... I'm so sorry. We... we did what we could as quickly as possible." "You did what you could?" I say, my voice rising in disbelief. "You watched me bleed. You waited because someone said so! And my husband... my husband hasn't even come!" The nurse's lips press into a thin line. "He was informed." "Informed," I repeat, my voice trembling with rage and grief. "Not here. Not asking. Not holding my hand. Just informed." Dr. Harris places a tentative hand on my shoulder. "He's a busy man. He-" I jerk away, tears spilling faster. "Busy? Busy while my baby dies? Busy while I'm lying here, alone?" My voice breaks completely. "I trusted him!" He sighs and steps back, giving me space. "I wish there was more I could do for you. I truly do." I can barely breathe. I press my hands to my face, trying to hide the tears. "There's nothing more you can do," I whisper. "Because it's too late. Too late!" I slump back against the pillows, feeling hollow. I try to think of something to cling to. But the room smells of antiseptic, cold and clean, and the machines beep steadily as if nothing has happened at all. Minutes pass. Hours? I don't know. Time has no meaning here. The emptiness in my chest is all-consuming. I reach for my phone with shaking hands and dial Julian's number again. It rings. Once. Twice. Three times. Then voicemail. "Julian," I whisper into the phone. My voice is tiny, breaking. "I lost the baby... our baby... Please... please come." I drop the phone back onto the bed, feeling its weight like a stone on my chest. Silence answers me. I close my eyes. I imagine a tiny crib, a blanket folded neatly, a lullaby that will never be sung. I imagine holding a tiny hand that doesn't exist, watching a small face that will never smile. My body shudders with grief. The door opens again. I look up automatically, hope flaring in my chest, thinking it's Julian at last. But it isn't him. It's her. Margaret Ashford. She steps into the room like she owns it. Her heels click softly against the polished floor, each sound deliberate. Her cream coat is immaculate, her pearl earrings catching the harsh hospital lights. Her silver hair is perfectly styled, not a strand out of place. She stops at the foot of the bed and smiles. A smile that makes my chest tighten even more cold, knowing, and merciless.