The delivery room was chaotic. Monitors were beeping, nurses calling for towels, and the air thick with urgency. Nurse Elise held the trembling hand of a nineteen-year-old girl named Olivia as she pushed through another contraction. Sweat streamed down her temples; her eyes darted toward the door as if expecting someone to burst in.
“You’re doing great,” Elise whispered, squeezing her hand. She nodded once, silent, terrified. When the final cry came, the doctor caught the baby and announced, “It’s a girl.” For a moment, relief flickered across Olivia’s face. Then the doctor asked gently, “Who’s the father?”
The question shattered her composure. Olivia’s shoulders convulsed, and she began to sob uncontrollably. The doctor froze, the clipboard hovering midair. Elise stepped closer, instinctively wrapping her arm around Olivia’s trembling frame. Her tears soaked through her scrubs, each one heavy with something more than pain.