The receptionist’s voice stopped us before the maternity ward doors could close.
“There’s another change on the account.”
The security officer took the second page from her hand and read it without speaking. I could see my husband watching his face, waiting for some clue about what had appeared on the paper.
The consultant was still beside my wheelchair. One hand rested on the emergency scan, the other pointing toward the nurse who was preparing to take me back into the ward.
Another tightening rolled through my abdomen.
I closed my eyes until it passed.
“Take her now,” the consultant said.
The nurse pushed me forward.
My husband moved with us, but the security officer stepped into his path again.
“You can wait here.”
“I’m her husband.”
“I know.”
“I need to be with her.”
The officer looked down at the paper in his hand.
“That depends.”
