White. Everything was walls, white linoleum, white scrubs on white-faced doctors and lover's white fingers, oxygen-deprived from letting her clutch his hand like it was a lifeline, and she was drowning in an endless ocean, far from home and life and anything familiar.
She was scared. Never before had she been so unsure of what was to happen, never in any of her long centuries of had a reputation as a coward, and she knew it was well-earned. She had certainly felt fright throughout her life and her history, but never like this.
Feliciana Vargas had never felt this sheer terror before.
She screeched again in agony as another blast of pain seared through her lower half like a wave of fire. "Get it out!" she howled. "Get it out of me!"
"Feli, they're doing the best they can," her partner tried to soothe, his blond hair matted and ruffled and his icy blue eyes bloodshot. "I-I know it hurts, but you must—"
"MAKE IT STOP!" she sobbed. (She didn't even know what language she was speaking anymore: English, Italian, German, what was the difference?) "LUDWIG, MAKE IT STOP!" Tears ran down her face in torrents, blurring her view of her kind lover and making her feel even more like a weakling than she usually did.
"I…I can't, Liebling," Ludwig whispered, almost appearing to be near tears. "I'm so sorry….Just hold on for me, Feliciana. Hold on. Please."
She had never seen Ludwig beg before, either.
"It's almost finished," the American doctor consoled in English from her humiliating position between the auburn-haired girl's legs. "I can see the head. Just a few more pushes and you'll be done."
"Do you hear that, Feli?" Ludwig urged in German, pressing his lips to Feliciana's temple briefly. "It's almost over. Please, be strong."
The ticking of the waiting room clock was almost deafening to Jamie and Richelle Bonher. Ever since they had gotten that telephone call in the middle of the night saying that they were needed at the hospital, it was like the universe decided to slow down just to test the couple's patience. Every second felt like a minute, every minute felt like an hour, and every hour felt like a day.
From Jamie's calculations, they had been there approximately a week and a half when the grinning Dr. Tasha Wyatt walked into the waiting room. Relief washed over both of them when they saw nothing but good news in her eyes. "How's our baby?" Richelle immediately blurted out, not even bothering to wait for her to say anything.
"She's wonderful, Mrs. Bonher. Strong lungs, no compilations, and bottle-feeding already."
"She?" Jamie asked excitedly. "A girl? We have a daughter?"
Richelle giggled merrily and lightly punched her husband's shoulder. "You owe me a hundred dollars, mister! And you were so sure it would be a—"
"—Actually," Dr. Wyatt cut in, "you might want to adjust your…bet…a little bit. There was an unexpected discovery in the delivery room. The birth mother never had an ultrasound, so there was no easy way to tell, and…well...we just discovered that your daughter has a little brother."
Realization dawned over the new parents as the news sank in. "Another baby…" Jamie whispered. "She had twins?"
"Yes, unfortunately. The birth mother doesn't want the boy, either, so you have the options of adopting him as well, or letting him go into foster care until he goes to a good family-"
"No," Richelle blurted, before the doctor even finished speaking. "No, they won't be separated. We can deal with twins, right, Jamie?"
Jamie said nothing, just absently nodding, the shocked glaze never leaving his eyes. "Sure…sure…"
"Very good," Dr. Wyatt beamed. "You can go look at them in the viewing room. They can go home in a few hours."
Quickly, the new mother grasped her husband's hand and yanked him out of his seat, eager to see the two new children that another woman bore for them.
This woman, as strangers kissed and cuddled and took away her and Ludwig's newborn children, now cried broken, humiliated, grief-filled tears in her boyfriend's arms. No matter what Ludwig, the doctors, or the nurses said to her, all she could do was shake her head desperately and mutter the same three words over and over into the German man's shoulder.
"I love you…I love you…I love you…"
No one knew whether she was saying it to the father or the two children who never got the chance to be hers.
Or maybe all three.