Pregnant and Spoiled by the Billionaire – Episode 40
The decision moved faster than Amelia’s fear could follow. Nurses removed jewelry, replaced her gown, and explained the cesarean procedure while medication flowed into her IV. Consent forms covered anesthesia, hemorrhage, transfusion, and emergency interventions she had once regarded as distant possibilities. Five neonatal teams assembled beyond the operating room, their colored badges corresponding to birth order.
Leo changed into surgical clothing with shaking hands. Hospital policy allowed him beside Amelia unless the operation became too dangerous. He promised to follow every instruction, knowing one refusal could have him removed when she needed him most.
Matilda arrived before they transferred Amelia. Her face crumpled for a moment, then steadied. She tucked the engagement ring into a chain around her own neck, promising to guard it until Amelia could wear it again. She kissed Amelia’s forehead and said nothing about heirs or family names. “Come back to us,” she whispered. “The boys need their mother, and so do we.”
Claire appeared on Leo’s phone from the treatment center. She told Amelia she loved her, words neither sister had used easily. Amelia asked her to continue recovery regardless of what happened, refusing to let fear turn the promise into a farewell.
The operating room was brighter and more crowded than Amelia imagined. Five warming stations lined one wall, each stocked with equipment sized for extremely premature infants. Staff introduced themselves one by one so the masks surrounding her belonged to people rather than anonymous hands. Leo sat near her shoulder after anesthesia took effect, his eyes remaining on hers.
A sterile curtain blocked the surgery. Amelia focused on Leo’s voice as he described the first time she stopped an elevator door with her hand and demanded five minutes of his life. “You have taken considerably more than five minutes,” he said, and she managed a frightened smile.
The surgeon announced the first incision. Amelia felt pressure but no pain, an unnatural pulling that made her grip Leo’s hand harder. The anesthesiologist described what was normal so she would not mistake sensation for catastrophe. Above her, monitors tracked blood pressure that remained dangerously unstable despite medication.
“Baby A,” someone called. A small cry rose above the machinery, thin but unmistakable. Amelia began sobbing before she saw him. Leo looked toward the warming station, torn between following their son and remaining beside her.
A nurse held the infant near enough for one brief glimpse before the neonatal team began respiratory support. Adam’s skin looked translucent, his limbs impossibly delicate, but his fingers opened against the blanket. “Adam,” Amelia said. Leo repeated the name so it would follow the child across the room and onto the identification bands checked by two nurses.
Benjamin arrived less than a minute later. He made no sound at first, and the silence stretched until a clinician reported a heartbeat and began ventilation. The team communicated in calm numbers, shielding urgency from chaos. Amelia searched Leo’s expression for information he did not have, and he refused to invent reassurance.
Caleb was delivered third, smaller than his brothers but moving. The baby whose circulation forced weeks of vigilance lifted one tiny arm before disappearing beneath the hands working to stabilize him. His team requested additional respiratory support, but the neonatologist announced that his heart responded well.
Daniel followed with a stronger cry. Ethan arrived last, enclosed in a sac the surgeon opened carefully before passing him to the fifth team. Five stations filled the room, each surrounded by motion and concentrated voices.
Leo told Amelia what he could see: Adam was pinking beneath oxygen, Benjamin’s chest had begun moving with support, Caleb gripped a clinician’s finger, Daniel protested every touch, and Ethan’s heart rate remained strong. Each baby received a hat in the color assigned before delivery. The observations were incomplete, but they gave her something human to hold beyond scores and equipment.
The atmosphere at the operating table changed. A second surgeon requested medication and additional suction. Amelia heard the phrase excessive bleeding, followed by numbers delivered too quickly.
Leo’s hand tightened around hers. The anesthesiologist explained that the overdistended uterus was not contracting effectively, causing hemorrhage. The team had treatments prepared, but they needed to work rapidly.
Amelia felt cold despite the heated blankets. Her vision narrowed around Leo’s face. She asked whether the babies were alive. He answered yes, because every neonatal team still reported a heartbeat.
The surgeon attempted medication and compression while blood products arrived. When the bleeding continued, she warned that more invasive procedures might be necessary to save Amelia’s life. Future fertility could not guide the decision.
“Do whatever saves her,” Leo said. Amelia gave the same consent, though the words barely formed. Five sons already depended on her return more than any imagined future child.
The anesthesiologist increased medication as alarms blended with the distant sounds of neonatal equipment. Leo told Amelia he loved her, repeating it until her eyes closed. A nurse guided him from the room when the team converted to emergency surgery.
In the corridor, five incubators rolled past him toward intensive care, each carrying one impossibly small son. Leo could not follow them because the operating-room doors remained closed behind him. Then the red emergency light came on, and a surgeon called for additional blood while Amelia’s monitor sounded continuously beyond the wall.