Before he could take another step toward me, Dad stood up.
General Robert Bennett was six-foot-two, broad-shouldered, and had commanded divisions in three combat zones. The sheer physical presence of the man swallowed the entire room.
“You gave up your rights when you left your wife to freeze on a balcony while you drank beer and watched football, boy,” Dad growled, stepping directly into Ryan’s personal space. “You are not a father. You are an accomplice to negligence. Now turn around and walk out that door before I have the MPs carry you out by your neck.”
Ryan looked between my father’s lethal glare and my completely closed expression. The ring in his hand felt like a burning coal. Realizing that the battle was lost, he choked back a sob, turned, and stumbled out of the room.
As the door clicked shut behind him, the fetal monitor gave a sharp, sudden dip in pitch.
*Thump… thump… thump……..*
The heart rate plummeted on the screen. 138… 110… 92… 80.
A red warning light began flashing on the ceiling console. The siren shrieked through the room.
Dr. Mercer kicked the door open, followed by four trauma nurses and an anesthesiologist.
“Abruption extension!” Dr. Mercer yelled, tearing the blankets back. “Fetal bradycardia! She’s crashing! Prep the OR for an emergency Section right now!”
***
