Page 15 of Friends are Forever (Teton Mountain #6)

L ila sat motionless in the hard plastic chair outside the maternity ward, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The antiseptic smell of the hospital made her stomach churn, but it was the silence that rattled her most—broken only by the distant beep of machines and the occasional overhead page.

She stared straight ahead, not seeing the scuffed tile or the faded brochure rack across from her. All she could see was Camille’s face—pale, twisted with pain—as she’d helped her daughter into the car, trying not to panic at the blood, the way Camille had gasped and clutched her belly.

The doors at the end of the corridor banged open. Lila looked up as Charlie Grace, Reva, Jake, and Capri rushed in, hair windblown, faces flushed with urgency.

“Lila—” Charlie Grace dropped to her knees in front of her. “What happened?”

Lila’s throat tightened. “I got home not long after we all left Reva’s. Camille was doubled over in the bathroom. She said she felt cramping earlier but didn’t want to worry me.” She swallowed hard. “Then the bleeding started.”

“Oh, Lila,” Reva murmured, sliding into the chair beside her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “They are with her now?”

Lila nodded. “They rushed her into an exam room. Said a doctor would be in soon. I—I don’t know anything yet.”

Capri leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight over her chest, her voice soft but firm. “It could be a subchorionic hematoma. My cousin had one. Lots of bleeding. Sounds awful…but the baby was fine.”

Jake moved to Capri’s side, rubbed his stubbled chin. “I think we should think positive.”

Charlie Grace nodded quickly, her thumbs racing over the tiny keyboard on her phone screen. “Says here it could be placenta previa—sometimes they just monitor it. Doesn’t always mean the worst.”

“She’s seven months,” Lila whispered. “Too early.”

Reva gave her a gentle squeeze. “But far enough along that they’ll do everything they can. Babies born this early can still thrive. You know that better than anyone.”

Lila bit her lip, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I know. I do. But when it’s your own child...and your grandchild?—”

“We’re here,” Charlie Grace said, reaching for her hand. “You’re not doing this alone.”

The four women sat in a fragile circle of waiting—hearts racing, hope flickering, the bond between them stronger than ever in the face of the unknown.

Time passed in a haze of muted footsteps and the distant hum of machines.

Lila couldn’t say how long they sat there—ten minutes, maybe thirty—while the sterile walls closed in and her mind ran in frantic circles.

She’d replayed it all again and again. Camille’s moan of pain.

The shaking hands that had packed her daughter’s hospital bag just in case.

The drive to Jackson, speeding through yellow lights with one hand on the wheel and the other reaching across the seat to touch Camille’s knee, whispering, “Hold on, baby. Just hold on.”

Charlie Grace pulled a bottle of water from her purse and pressed it into Lila’s hands.

Reva had taken over talking to the nurse at the front desk, checking for updates.

Capri paced the length of the corridor more times than Lila could count, boots scuffing against the tile, while Jake sat with his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor.

Still no word. Still no doctor.

Then the double doors at the far end opened with a whoosh.

All four women stood at once. Jake too.

A man in blue scrubs stepped through, mask hanging loosely around his neck. He looked to be in his early forties, with dark eyes tired from too many late-night shifts. He paused when he saw them, then walked directly to Lila.

“Ms. Bellamy?” His voice was gentle.

Lila’s mouth went dry. “Yes.”

“I’m Dr. Reyes. I was the attending OB on call.”

She nodded, legs suddenly weak.

He took a breath and pulled down the mask fully. “I’m so sorry. We did everything we could, but...the baby. The little girl didn’t make it.”

“A…a girl?” Lila’s knees buckled, and Reva reached for her, guiding her back to the chair.

Dr. Reyes crouched slightly so they were eye-level. “Your daughter experienced a placental abruption. It happens when the placenta detaches from the uterine wall prematurely. It can lead to severe bleeding for both mother and baby. In Camille’s case, it was rapid and complete.”

Lila stared at him, the words slamming into her like a physical blow. “But she’s—Camille?”

“She’s stable,” he said quickly. “We managed to stop the bleeding. She’s going to be okay. She doesn’t know yet. We’re waiting until she’s more fully awake.”

He hesitated. “We’ll know more on the cause after some test results come back, but suffice it to say there was little we could do. I’m sorry.”

Lila felt her body tremble. Her baby girl had lost her baby. A granddaughter she would never hold. A future that had just been ripped away before it even began.

Reva knelt in front of her, tears sliding silently down her cheeks. Charlie Grace and Capri stood close, hands on her shoulders.

There were no words. Only grief, raw and heavy, settling over them like a storm cloud with no break in sight.