The Blood On His Lab Coat

On the day I was due to give birth, Dans clinically depressed ex-fiance, Daphne, stormed into the maternity ward.

A paring knife. Straight into my flank.

By the time Dan arrived with the trauma team, I was sprawled in a pool of my own blood beside the delivery bed, the monitors screaming.

But he didn't run to me. Instead, he knelt before Daphne, who had been pushed to the floor by a nurse, her elbow slightly scraped.

"Dr. Cooper, your wife is in critical condition! We need to get her to the OR immediately!"

Dan looked up, casting a cold, professional glance over my body.

"Her wound didn't hit any major organs. She can hold on. Daphne has a severe coagulation disordereven a minor scrape can cause her to bleed out. Her situation is more urgent."

"Give Daphne the two units of typed blood we had reserved for the delivery."

As they began to wheel her away, I gathered every ounce of my remaining strength to grab the hem of his white lab coat.

He frowned, looking down at me.

"Daphne didn't do this on purpose, Hannah. Shes having an episode. You went to medical schoolyou of all people should understand."

With those words, he pulled a printed non-prosecution waiver from his pocket.

He took my hand, slick with my own blood, and pressed my thumb firmly onto the signature line.

"The next batch of blood will be here soon. Just hold on a little longer."

He carried Daphne out.

The hallway was vast, sterile, and quiet. Nobody looked back.

Inside my belly, my baby kicked. Once. Twice. A desperate, pleading flutter.

"Hurry! Get two large-bore IVs started! Run the fluids under pressure! Someone call the blood bank again!"

"Dr. Gibson, her blood pressure is down to fifty! Estimated blood loss is over two thousand milliliters!"

"Where the hell are those two units of packed red cells we reserved?"

I was floating above the operating table, watching the frantic huddle around my own body.

Dr. Gibson's surgical gown was already soaked through with my blood.

I wanted to reach down and touch my belly, but my hand passed through the empty air like mist.

Daphnes strike hadnt been the shallow graze Dan assumed.

She had slipped past the nurses' station, the knife concealed in her sleeve.

When she drove it into me, she had leaned close, whispering in my ear, Once you and this baby are gone, Dan will have no one left but me.

And when she pulled the blade out, she twisted the handle. On purpose.

"The blood bank just called back. Dr. Cooper personally signed out those two units of reserved blood five minutes ago." The circulating nurses voice cracked, on the verge of tears.

"Signed them out? Is he out of his mind? That was a high-risk delivery reserve!" Dr. Gibsons knuckles turned white.

"Dr. Cooper said Miss Bishop has a severe bleeding disorder and needed emergency blood on standby for an arm laceration."

The operating room went dead silent.

Only the shrill, persistent beep of the monitor cut through the quiet.

I watched Dr. Gibson desperately packing laparotomy sponges into my abdomen, trying to stem the torrent.

I wanted to tell him to stop. To save his energy.

I was never going to get the next batch of blood Dan promised.

The rapid, frantic rhythm of the fetal monitor began to drag, slowing down beat by agonizing beat, until it flattened into a single, continuous tone.

The child who had been kicking me just moments ago went completely still.

"Fetal heart rate is gone."

"She's in V-fib! Prep the defibrillator!"

"Two hundred joules. Charging. Clear!"

A dull thud.

My body arched off the table, then fell back heavily.

The EKG monitor gave a few erratic spikes, then flattened into a cold, horizontal line.

"Dr. Cooper says the next shipment of blood from the regional center will be here in ten minutes," the charge nurse said, pushing through the double doors, her eyes red.

Dr. Gibson set the defibrillator paddles down. His voice was completely shot, hollowed out by grief.

"Don't bother. Record the time of death. 8:07 PM."

I watched the nurse pull the white sheet over my face.

Covering my eyes, which were still wide, staring into nothing.

Just a thin wall away, in a private luxury suite.

Dan was gently dabbing an iodine swab onto the tiny scrape on Daphne's elbow.

"Dan? Did I... did I kill her?" Daphne huddled in the bed, her shoulders shaking.

Dan tossed the swab into the biohazard bin, his voice steady, anchoring.

"No. It was just a superficial scratch. You had an episode, Daphne. You weren't in control of yourself. The law won't hold you responsible."

"But there was so much blood. The way she looked at me... it was terrifying."

"Her water broke. It was mixed with blood, which made it look worse than it was. Shes a doctor; she knew how to protect herself from any real harm."

Dan leaned down, gently blowing on her scrape, which had already stopped oozing.

"But look at you. You know your coagulation levels aren't perfect. Why were you wandering around? What if this scratch hadn't stopped bleeding?"

Daphne leaned into his chest, her tears dampening his white coat.

Just below his collar, near the hem, was the bloody print of my handthe final mark I left before I died.

"I was just so scared. I thought once the baby came, you wouldn't want me anymore. I couldn't stop myself."

"Don't talk like that." He stroked her hair. "I already got her to sign the waiver. Once she delivers and her hormones settle, I'll have her come tell you herself that everything is fine."

He spoke with the casual, detached air of a man organizing tomorrow's clinic schedule.

Just then, the OR doors swung open.

Dr. Gibson pulled off his blood-stained mask, his voice raspy and dead:

"Both of them. Gone."

And in the next room, Dan was still leaning over, gently blowing on the shallow scrape on Daphnes elbow.

"Dr. Cooper, we need you to sign off on the OB/GYN resuscitation records."

Nurse Lisa stood at the door of the VIP suite, holding a blue clipboard.

Dan tested the temperature of a cup of water before handing it to Daphne. He didn't even turn around.

"Leave it at the nurses' station. Can't you see Miss Bishop needs me right now?"

"But Dr. Cooper, this record is highly unusual. It's about the patient from last night..."

"What's so unusual about it? People require resuscitation in maternity every day," Dan cut her off. He pulled a tissue and wiped a stray drop of water from Daphne's lip. "I was up all night keeping Daphne stable. I don't have the bandwidth for paperwork. Have the clinical director sign it."

Lisa opened her mouth, her eyes welling with tears. She gripped the folder tight, but in the end, she said nothing. She turned and walked away.

I followed her, watching as she slid my death certificate into a drawer.

Along with the tiny pink identification band that my baby never got to wear. Both stuffed into a thick manila folder.

The morgue was freezing.

My baby and I lay inside a stainless-steel drawer, unclaimed.

With nowhere else to go, I drifted back to Dan.

Daphne finished her water and timidly tugged at Dans sleeve.

"Dan, the way she looked at me last night... it was so full of hate. Like she wanted to kill me."

"Do you think she's still angry? Is that why she's hiding from you?"

Dan pulled out his phone and stared at the empty iMessage thread.

His brow furrowed.

Normally, if he was gone for more than two hours, my texts would flood his screen. Asking when hed be home, asking if Daphne was having another crisis.

But since last night, there had been nothing. Just cold, gray silence.

"She's just stubborn," Dan said, his fingers typing quickly across the glass. "She thinks I'm favoring you, so shes throwing a tantrum."

I hovered over his shoulder, reading the words he sent to a dead woman.

If you're done throwing a fit, text me back. Daphne has been through enough. Stop punishing her.

A baby isn't a chess piece for you to win arguments with. Do you really think playing missing-in-action is going to make me back down?

He locked the screen with a sharp snap.

Daphne watched him, a tiny, smug spark lighting up the depths of her eyes. She bit her lip, letting a tear fall.

"What if she calls the police? I'm so scared, Dan."

Dan pulled out the copy of the signed waiver. "With this, she can't press charges. Besides, she's a physician. She knows the consequences of making a scene."

"When she cools off, I'll have her apologize to you. She shouldn't have triggered you last night."

I watched him calmly, listening to him use his gentlest, most reassuring voice to convict a corpse.

Down the hall, two nurses whispered as they passed.

"Did you hear about the delivery last night? She bled out completely."

"I know. They couldn't save the baby either. A beautiful little girl, fully formed."

Dans hand froze mid-air, holding his water glass.

He suddenly remembered: today was my due date.

He stood up, a sudden, inexplicable weight pressing down on his chest.

"I'm going to check on maternity."

He took a single step before Daphne clutched her arm and shrieked.

"It hurts! Dan, I'm so dizzy. Am I bleeding again? Is my wound opening?"

Dan spun around instantly, sitting back down on the edge of her bed to hold her hand.

Outside, a nurse muttered to her colleague: "The father listed on the deceased baby's chart... I think his last name was Cooper, too."

Before Dan could turn his head to listen, Daphne cried out again, throwing her arms around his neck, burying him in her panic.

When Dan finally returned to our house, the nursery's nightlight was still casting its soft, warm glow.

The light pooled over the brand-new crib.

I had washed and ironed the tiny sheets myself.

The hospital bag sat open on the sofa, packed with neat rows of onesies and diapers.

My prenatal chart lay on the entryway table.

On the dining table, a handwritten note was held down by a glassa meal plan Id prepared for my postpartum recovery.

Dan kicked off his shoes. Looking at the silent, empty living room, his scowl deepened.

He probably expected me to be sitting on the couch, waiting to confront him with tear-swollen eyes, demanding to know why he chose Daphne first.

But the house was dead quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock.

He walked over to the dining table and picked up the note.

On the back, I had written a contingency plan for the birth.

If I hemorrhage, please prioritize the baby. Save her first.

If I don't make it off the table, tell Dan to keep Daphne far away from my daughter.

Dan let out a cold laugh, crumpling the paper into a tight ball and tossing it into the trash can.

"Always the dramatist," he muttered.

He pulled out his phone and dialed my number again.

Only the cold, automated operator answered, telling him the phone was powered off.

He opened our chat, typing furiously.

You've made your point. It's time to come home. Your due date is literally any day now. Don't put your health at risk just to spite me.

I've handled the situation with Daphne. She's sick, Hannah. You don't need to compete with a patient.

Once the baby is here and you're on maternity leave, you'll have plenty of time. Maybe you can even help me monitor Daphne's therapy.

The messages sent, but there was no bubble, no reply.

Dan tossed the phone onto the sofa and rubbed his temples.

Just then, his phone rang.

The caller ID showed Dr. Piercemy medical school mentor, the woman who had treated me like her own daughter.

Dan answered, his tone returning to its usual polished, professional distance.

"Dr. Pierce. Good evening."

"Dan. Where are you right now?" Dr. Pierces voice was trembling, thick with a suppressed, toxic rage.

Dan glanced at the crumpled note in the trash, assuming I had run to her to complain.

"I'm at home. If Hannah sent you to play mediator, tell her it's not going to work."

"If she wants an apology, she needs to walk through that door herself. Shes about to be a mother. She needs to grow up."

A heavy, ragged gasp came through the receiver.

"Grow up? Dan... do you have any goddamn idea what happened last night?"

"Of course I do," Dan said, his voice dropping an octave, turning icy. "Daphne had an episode and accidentally scratched her. I already made Daphne apologize. What else does she want?"

"If she feels slighted, Ill buy her that diamond necklace she wanted once the baby is born. Consider it a peace offering."

"Are you completely soulless?" Dr. Pierce screamed into the phone. "You put that woman above your wife every single day, but last night was her due date! You"

Before she could finish, Dans work phone buzzed in his hand.

A FaceTime call from Daphne.

Without a second thought, Dan hung up on Dr. Pierce.

He swiped to answer the video. On the screen, Daphne was hysterical, tears streaming down her face.

"Dan! Dan, you have to come back! I saw her! She was in my room!"

"She had a knife, Dan! She said she was going to kill me! I'm so scared!"

Dan grabbed his car keys without hesitation. "Don't panic. I'm on my way."

As he reached the front door, his eyes caught a beautifully wrapped velvet box on the console table.

He had bought it on a whim last week during a medical conferencea sterling silver baby bracelet.

Engraved on the inside was the nickname we'd casually picked: Gracie.

He had clearly intended to use it to soothe my anger after the birth.

He slipped the box into his pocket, shut the door, and locked it behind him.

When Dan arrived at the VIP wing, Daphne was curled into a ball at the corner of the bed, pointing wildly at the window.

"She was here! She was holding the baby, staring at me!"

The curtains in the room were drawn tight, blocking out any trace of daylight.

On her nightstand, Daphne's phone was playing a looped audio recording of a fetal heart rate monitor flatlining.

On the floor lay the shredded pieces of a 3D ultrasound photo.

It was the scan from my twenty-fourth week. I had waited in line for three hours by myself to get it.

Daphne covered her ears, rocking violently on the mattress.

"It's her! She's texting me! Shes cursing me!"

"She said she and the baby will never let me go! She said she's dragging me to hell with her!"

Dan rushed to the bed, pulling her tightly against his chest.

"Shh, it's okay. Its just a hallucination. You're safe."

"It's not a hallucination! Look at the phone!" Daphne pointed a shaking finger at the screen on the floor.

Dan picked it up. On the screen was a text message from an unknown burner number:

You stole my husband. My baby and I will haunt you until the day you die.

Dans expression darkened instantly.

He knew that desperate, broken tone. It was the same tone I used when I had finally reached my breaking point, pleading with him to see what he was doing to us.

"She has completely lost her mind," Dan hissed, his eyes flashing with disgust. "Using a child to terrorize a sick woman? Where is her medical ethics?"

I drifted near the ceiling, watching Daphne bury her face in his chest, a cold, satisfied smile spreading across her lips.

She knew I was dead.

When she drove that knife into my waist last night, her eyes had been terrifyingly clear.

She had even slipped the handle into my dying grip before the nurses arrived, creating the illusion of a struggle.

Now, she was using a dead woman's ghost to play the victim.

Dan pulled out his phone and dialed the hospital's administration office.

"Chief Bradley? It's Dan Cooper. Regarding my wife's fellowship recommendation for next year... pull it."

"Her psychological state is highly unstable right now. She's displaying severe paranoia and aggressive tendencies. She shouldn't be near patients."

"Yes, I'll submit a formal clinical assessment to back it up."

With a few words, he erased three years of my sleepless nights and grueling shifts.

He used his clinical authority to brand me mentally unfit.

Hanging up, he sent me one last text message.

You have ten minutes to get to this hospital and apologize to Daphne face-to-face.

If you don't, I won't let you raise this child with these toxic habits. I will legally petition to suspend your clinical privileges and keep you home.

The message delivered. No read receipt. No reply.

Daphne clung to his lapels, her breath hitching.

"Dan... I can never have children of my own. Why is she doing this to me? Why is she flaunting her baby?"

Dan looked at her pale, tear-stained face, a pang of guilt striking his chest.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet box meant for my baby.

He popped it open.

The sterling silver bracelet gleamed under the harsh fluorescent light, the name Gracie etched sharply into the metal.

"Don't cry. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere," Dan murmured.

He took Daphnes hand and pressed my daughter's bracelet into her palm.

"Keep this. Think of it as her paying penance to you."

Daphnes tears vanished, replaced by a soft, victorious smile as she gripped the silver band.

Then, the heavy wooden door of the suite was kicked open with a deafening crash.

Dr. Pierce stood in the doorway, panting, her hair disheveled and her eyes bloodshot.

She marched straight up to Dan, raised her hand, and slapped him across the face with everything she had.

The crack of her palm echoed through the sterile room.

Dr. Pierce's voice shook with a rage so deep it sounded ancient.

"She and the baby are dead, and you are using her child's things to comfort their murderer?"