Chapter Ten
Brooke
“Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll remain seated with your seatbelts fastened, we should begin deboarding in just a few minutes,” Stephanie’s voice carries calmly through the cabin, polished and practiced after years of saying the same announcement a thousand times.
She’s the purser on this flight, so she handles the PA while the rest of us run through our post-landing checks.
We always tell passengers the same thing, stay seated until the seatbelt sign is off, stay seated until the doors are open, but, as usual, there’s always a few that think the rules don’t apply to them.
As protocol requires, I stay seated in my jump seat near the mid-cabin doors, projecting my voice over the hum of the engines. “Ladies and gentlemen, for your safety, please remain seated until the seatbelt sign has been switched off!” I call out.
The aircraft continues taxiing toward the gate, the illuminated seatbelt sign still glowing bright above the aisles, but one passenger is already up, pulling bags from the overhead bins like we’re parked.
I bite back a sigh, the same battle, every flight.
“Sir, please sit down!” I call again, louder this time, unclipping my harness as we slow near the stand. My eyes don’t leave the man as he continues pulling at his suitcase in the overhead cabin. He’s wobbling on his feet, arm at an awkward angle, and the second I spot it, my stomach drops.
It’s slipping.
“Sir, wait! I’ve got it-”
I push up from my seat and start down the aisle, my voice sharper now. If that bag falls, it’s headed straight for the frail woman seated beneath it.
I’m only a few rows away when the world lurches.
A sudden, violent jolt rocks the aircraft, sending a ripple of startled cries through the cabin. It’s so sharp and unexpected that my feet fly out from under me. The aisle tilts, the floor rushes up, and before I can brace myself, I slam forward, landing hard and flat on my front.
Right on my belly.
For a second, everything stills. The only thing I can hear is the ringing in my ears and my heartbeat pounding as I silently pray for my baby to be okay.
I feel arms wrap around me, pulling me upright. “Oh God, are you okay?” a voice stammers.
I glance back and recognize the man, the same man who was pretending not to hear me a minute ago.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, shaking him off as I push myself to my feet. My knees wobble but I stay standing. “Next time, wait until the sign is off.”
A hush falls over the cabin as Stephanie’s voice comes over the PA, calm but firmer than usual.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it appears we’re experiencing some technical difficulties. This is not an emergency. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened while the crew assesses the situation. We will be deplaning using stairs once ground personnel arrive.”
A ripple of chatter spreads through the cabin, nervous but contained. I force myself to take a slow breath, one hand instinctively drifting to my stomach.
Please be okay, I think. Please, please be okay.
I force myself to stay upright, one hand still hovering protectively over my stomach as I scan the aisle. The passengers are watching me now, a mix of curiosity and concern in their eyes, but I paste on the calmest smile I can manage.
Stay professional. Stay composed.
Once everyone’s seated again, I make my way to the front of the cabin, every step measured even though my knees feel like they could buckle any second. Stephanie’s waiting for me by the forward galley, her brow creased in concern.
“You sure you’re okay?” she asks, eyes flicking briefly to my stomach.
“Yeah,” I lie. My voice sounds steadier than I feel. “Just… lost my balance, that’s all.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she nods anyway. “The tire blew, so the ground crew’s on their way. We’ll deplane with stairs, no need to alarm anyone.”
“Got it.” I swallow hard. “I’ll help with the forward exit.”
The next fifteen minutes feel like the longest of my life.
I smile and thank passengers as they step off the plane one by one, making small talk, answering questions, pretending everything is perfectly fine.
My training kicks in like muscle memory, calm voice, reassuring tone, composed body language.
But inside, I’m screaming.
Every twinge in my stomach, every phantom ache, every moment that passes without the baby moving is a new wave of panic.
When the last passenger is gone and the doors close behind us, I excuse myself quickly, telling Stephanie I’ll catch up later. My hands are trembling as I make my way through the terminal, barely aware of the announcements overhead or the rolling suitcases passing me by.
By the time I step outside into the afternoon heat, my chest feels like it’s caving in.
A taxi pulls up to the curb, and I yank the door open, sliding into the back seat. “Take me to the closest ER,” I tell the driver, my voice shaking.
“Right away, miss,” he says, pulling into traffic.
My hands are already fumbling for my phone. It takes me three tries before I hit Matthew’s contact. It rings once. Twice. Three times.
He picks up on the fourth. “Brooke?”
My breath catches. Just hearing his voice makes the panic bubble over. “I-I’m sorry,” I manage, my voice trembling so hard the words barely form. “I’m so sorry, Matthew.”
“What? What’s wrong? What happened?”
I fold in on myself, one arm wrapped around my middle, the other gripping the phone like it’s the only thing tethering me to the world. “I fell,” I choke out. “I know you didn’t want me to work and I can’t believe I was so stupid, I fell and… and God, I haven’t felt the baby move since.”
Tears stream down my face, hot and relentless.
“Brooke,” Matthew’s voice cuts through the panic, steady and sure even though I can hear the edge of fear underneath. “Take a deep breath. Just breathe. Where are you?”
“I’m… I’m in a taxi. On my way to the ER.”
“Which one?”
I lower the phone, my voice shaking as I ask the driver, “Where are we going?”
“Elmhurst Hospital,” he says over his shoulder.
I bring the phone back to my ear. “Elmhurst,” I whisper.
“Okay,” Matthew says, his voice suddenly brisk, decisive. “Go there. I’m leaving now. I’ll be there as soon as I can, do you hear me? Just hold on.”
“Okay,” I breathe, my voice breaking on the word.
The call ends, and I sit back against the seat, shaking uncontrollably. My hands won’t stop moving, over my stomach, over my heart, as if touching them will make everything okay. But the fear is still there, cold and heavy, pressing down on my chest with every passing second.
Please move, I beg silently. Please be okay. Please.
Matthew
I didn’t expect that.
I was ready to tell her I’d meet her at home, ready to reassure her that everything would be fine and then she said it. I haven’t felt the baby move.
The words keep looping in my head, over and over, each time hitting harder.
I’ve already told my boss I’m leaving for the day, so I don’t waste another second. I grab my jacket, shove my phone into my pocket, and bolt from my office.
“Mr. Basen!” Trudy, my assistant, calls after me as I blow past her desk. “You have a call with-”
“Cancel it!” I yell back without slowing down.
I jab at the elevator button like pressing it harder will make it come faster. For a second, I consider the stairs, but from the twenty-third floor, that’ll take forever. The elevator dings open, finally, and I all but throw myself inside, pacing in the small metal box as it descends.
Please be okay. Please be okay. Please.
By the time the doors slide open into the lobby, my heart’s pounding so hard it feels like it’s lodged in my throat. I push through the revolving doors and out onto the street, flagging down the first cab I see.
“Elmhurst Hospital,” I say, breathless, climbing into the back seat. “Fast as you can.”
The driver nods and pulls into traffic, weaving into the flow of cars. I grip my phone so tightly it might crack in my hand. The air in the cab feels too thick, too close, pressing in around me.
I can’t do this. I can’t panic. I need to be there for Brooke.
I bend forward, elbows on my knees, and force myself to breathe in, out, in, out, until the edges of my vision stop swimming. My chest still feels tight, but the panic is just barely held at bay.
When I can finally think straight, I unlock my phone and dial the one person who’s always been there for me. The call rings once, twice, three times.
“Matthew?”
“Mom…” My voice cracks on the word. “I need you.”
“What’s wrong?” she asks quickly, the edge of panic already there.
“Brooke fell,” I manage, my throat tight. “She fell, on her stomach, and she hasn’t felt the baby move. She’s on her way to Elmhurst and I’m heading there now.”
“Oh, sweetheart…” I can hear the fear in her voice, even though she’s trying to keep it steady. “Is she in pain? Is there any bleeding?”
“I-I don’t think so,” I stammer, my heart thudding painfully against my ribs. “I didn’t even ask. God, I didn’t even ask.”
“Matthew,” she says firmly, cutting through the spiral before it swallows me. “It’s alright. Just stay calm, okay? I’ll meet you there. We’ll figure it out together.”
“Okay,” I whisper, clinging to the sound of her voice like a lifeline.
“Deep breaths,” she adds softly. “She needs you steady when you get there.”
“Right. Yeah. Steady.”
The call ends, but her words echo in my head as the city races by outside. I force myself to breathe, to focus, to stay present. Brooke needs me, they need me, and falling apart isn’t an option.
The cab jerks to a stop outside the sliding glass doors, and I’m out after I hand him sone cash. My chest feels like it’s going to explode as I push through the ER entrance and up to the admissions desk.
“My wife came in, she’s pregnant and she fell,” I blurt out, my words tripping over each other.
The nurse behind the desk gives me a quick once-over, then disappears behind a curtain with a, “take a seat”. I don’t, I stand there, heart hammering, watching the seconds crawl by. One minute. Two. Still nothing.
I can’t stand still anymore. I approach another nurse, older, confident, wearing different-coloured scrubs that mark her as someone in charge.
“My wife,” I say again, breathless. “She came in about thirty minutes ago. Brooke Basen. She’s pregnant, she fell, and-”
“Her name?” the nurse asks briskly.
“Brooke Masters Basen.”
Recognition flashes in her eyes, and she nods. “We’ve got her. She’s been transferred upstairs to Labor and Delivery for monitoring.”
“Labor and Delivery?” I ask. “Does that mean-?”
“It’s standard procedure,” she says quickly, holding up a hand. “It doesn’t mean she’s in labour. We just want to make sure both mom and baby are okay. Take the elevators at the end of the hall, third floor. Ask for the maternity assessment unit.”
“Thank you,” I manage, already halfway down the corridor before she’s even finished speaking.
I follow her directions to maternity, my heart thudding with every step. A nurse at the desk leads me through a set of double doors and down a quiet hallway to a semi-private room.
And there she is.
Brooke’s lying on a bed, swallowed up in a pale blue hospital gown, wires and monitors attached to her belly. The soft, rhythmic whoosh-whoosh of a foetal heartbeat fills the room, steady and strong.
I don’t even realize I’m moving until I’m at her side. The second she sees me, she reaches out, curling into me as I sit beside her on the bed. My arms wrap around her instinctively, holding her tight, grounding us both.
“Are you okay?” I whisper into her hair.
She nods against my shoulder, her voice shaky but steady enough. “They said the baby’s good. Strong. And… she’s okay.”
I pull back just enough to look at her. “She?”
Brooke nods again, tears glistening in her eyes as a trembling smile breaks across her face. “It’s a girl.”
For a moment, everything stops, the fear, the noise, the world outside that hospital room. All I can hear is that steady little heartbeat and the words echoing in my head: It’s a girl.
My girl. Our girl.
I press my forehead to hers, laughing quietly through the tears I didn’t even realize were falling. “She’s really okay?”
“She’s perfect,” Brooke whispers. “Absolutely perfect.”
“You must be Dad,” an older woman says warmly as she steps into the room, a stethoscope slung around her neck. She takes the chart from the end of Brooke’s bed and glances at the monitors, her eyes scanning the readings with practiced ease.
“Well,” she says after a moment, “the baby looks perfectly fine. The heartbeat is strong, and the ultrasound shows she’s moving around as she should. The fall did cause a very slight tear in the uterine wall, but it’s nothing to panic about. We’ll monitor it closely at your next appointment.”
Relief floods through me, loosening something that’s been knotted tight in my chest since Brooke’s call. “So… she’s okay? We can go home?”
The doctor nods and turns to Brooke. “Yes. You're stable, and so is the baby. But while I’m not putting you on bedrest, I am going to strongly recommend that you stop working for the remainder of the pregnancy. We can’t risk another fall like this.”
She asks. “Is there any way you could transition to desk duty?”
Brooke shakes her head, her voice small. “My maternity leave doesn’t start for a while.”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly, reaching for her hand. “We’ll figure it out. Brooke will stay home.”
The doctor nods approvingly. “Good. I don’t want complete bedrest, gentle walks are perfectly fine, even encouraged. And there are free prenatal classes at almost all community centres. It’s a great way to stay active and socialize with other moms.”
Brooke nods, still quiet, and I can feel her fingers tighten around mine. I give her hand a reassuring squeeze, trying to tell her without words that we’ll handle this, together.
The doctor offers us both a small smile before slipping the chart back into its holder. “I’ll have the discharge papers sent over. You two take care of each other.” With that, she leaves, the soft click of the door closing behind her.
Brooke exhales slowly, her shoulders slumping as the weight of it all presses down.
“We can’t afford for me to stop working,” she whispers, her voice barely above a breath. “Not with rent and the baby and everything else. We just… can’t.”
I turn toward her, cupping her cheek gently until her eyes meet mine. “I’ll take care of you,” I say, steady and certain. “Trust me.”