Roomie Wars Box Set

The room begins to spin, everything becomes a blur, and I don’t know where I am.

I’m lost.

It’s pitch black.

And all I hear is dead silence.

Chapter Ten

Drew

Twenty tiny fingers

Twenty tiny toes.

Two heartbeats.

Two sons.

The day I lost my dad, I thought my world had ended. I wept silently in the confines of my own space and nothing, absolutely nothing at all, could have prepared me for the enormous amount of grief that followed.

This man—a man who had been a role model to me—raised me solely. And I wasn’t given a chance to say goodbye. He was taken away from me too soon.

I couldn’t recall a single moment in my life where he wasn’t present. He did it, though. He battled his own demons and still managed to raise a son on his own. He often told me that it wasn’t hard, I was a good kid, and he loved me. I could do no wrong in his eyes.

Dad will always be dad, and Zoey will always be my soulmate.

But these boys, they are my heart.

I often hear people say that the moment you stare at your child for the first time, your heart beats crazily and your primal instincts kick in. You realize your only mission now is to protect this child for life.

Henry came out just in time. His low BPM was due to the umbilical cord being wrapped around his neck. After the nurses cleaned him up and checked all his vitals, he was free to join his brother in my arms.

And then—the unthinkable happens.

Zoey’s hemorrhaging.

Her uterus is failing to contract following the delivery of the placenta.

Zoey’s lost a lot of blood, and the surgeons are desperately trying to repair the damage. I’m going out of my mind, torn between trying to hold my babies and being there for her. Finally, the nurses request I leave given my emotions.

“Dr. Baldwin, I understand you’re a trained surgeon, but you need to step out. Let them help your wife, your sons need you.”

Even in my panicked state, the nurses suggest I feed the babies a bottle. Without Zoey by my side, I’m reluctant to do anything, but I have no choice. My sons need me, and the nurses constantly reassure me that the worst is over—they’ve managed to stop the bleeding, and Zoey simply needs some time to recover.

A few hours later after a feed, burp, and diaper change—still running on adrenalin—Zoey is wheeled out of recovery and into a private room.

“Hey there.” I stand up, barely able to hold back the tears from the overwhelming emotion. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” she smiles, faintly. “I want to hold the babies.”

Caressing her hair away from her face, I lift Oliver out of his plastic cot and into Zoey’s arms, following the same with Henry.

My heart is hammering, full of love and adoration for this woman. She carried our boys, brought them into this world, and still had to endure trauma afterward. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Zoey this content, deeply gazing at her sons in awe.

“I love you, Mommy.”

Her tired laugh is soft. “That’s new. If I call you Big Daddy, is that weird?”