Chapter 28
Shaurya
The call lasts far longer than I wanted. By the time Sujata confirms that the problem with the London contract has been corrected and the revised documents sent to the client, nearly thirty minutes have passed. I end the call with an irritated breath and step out of the study.
I head towards the dining room in search of Reeva, expecting to find her where I left her, but only two members of staff remain, clearing the table.
“Where is Reeva?” I ask.
One of the maids looks up. “Reeva ma’am went upstairs a few minutes ago, sir. I think she wanted to rest.”
I nod and make my way towards our bedroom. The puja required her to remain seated longer than usual, so her back must be aching again.
Damn it. I shouldn’t have left her alone for so long. I can only hope the pain hasn’t worsened.
But I abruptly stop a few feet from the staircase when I see Reeva standing near the top, her face drained of colour, and her unfocused eyes fixed on nothing.
Every instinct inside me erupts in warning.
Something is wrong. Terribly, catastrophically wrong.
Before I can reach her or ask what is wrong, everything happens at once. She steps down without looking, but her foot misses the next tread. Her balance gives way, and her body pitches forward.
“Reeva!”
Her name tears from my throat as I race towards her. She strikes the first few steps before tumbling helplessly down the staircase. I drop to my knees at the bottom and catch her upper body as she falls from the final step, preventing her head from crashing against the marble floor.
“Oh God! Reeva!” Dadiji screams somewhere behind me, but I barely hear her.
My entire world narrows to the woman lying frighteningly limp in my arms.
“Reeva.” One hand cradles the back of her head while the other cups her pale cheek. “Sweetheart, open your eyes. Please.”
She doesn’t respond. Her eyes remain closed as a bruise begins darkening near her temple. Her lips have lost every trace of colour, and each shallow breath barely lifts her chest.
Then my gaze drops lower, and the sight of a dark-red stain spreading across the pale fabric of her clothes stops my heart.
“Shaurya…” My name escapes from her lips in a broken whisper, and my eyes snap back to hers as her lashes flutter weakly.
“I’m here.” I bend over her, fighting the panic threatening to destroy what remains of my control. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
Her trembling hand moves towards her stomach. “The baby…”
“Our baby is going to be fine,” I promise, although terror is tearing me apart. “Nothing is going to happen to either of you.”
Tears leak from the corners of her eyes. “Please save our baby. Don’t let…”
Her words dissolve into a weak moan before her eyes close again.
“Reeva.” My voice breaks. “No. No, no, stay with me.”
She doesn’t respond this time.
“Get the car!” I roar, panic ripping every last trace of control from my voice.
I slip one arm under Reeva’s knees and the other around her back, then stand up with her in my arms, holding her close to my chest. Dadiji stands beside me with one trembling hand covering her mouth.
Mom appears a moment later, and the instant she sees Reeva lying limp in my arms, every trace of colour drains from her face.
I don’t stop to explain as I carry Reeva towards the entrance. Dadiji follows close behind, chanting desperate prayers beneath her breath, while Mom hurries beside her.
The car is already waiting by the time we reach the front steps, its rear door open. I carefully lower Reeva across the back seat and climb in beside her, drawing her upper body against me while keeping her head and neck supported.
“Take her to the hospital,” Mom says urgently. “Dadiji and I will follow in the other car.”
I cannot force a single word past the terror closing around my throat. I merely nod before pulling the door shut and tightening my arms around my unconscious wife.
“Drive,” I bark. “Now.”
The car surges forward. I hold Reeva’s hand throughout the journey, my thumb moving frantically over her knuckles as though I can somehow force life and strength back into her.
“Stay with me, sweetheart. Please.”
Her lashes flutter, but her eyes remain closed.
The blood continues spreading across her clothes, and every glimpse of it sends another wave of terror tearing through me.
Please, God. No.
The prayer rises from somewhere raw and desperate inside me.
Save them. Take anything else from me. Just don’t take my wife or our child. Please… let them live.
After the longest twenty minutes of my life, the hospital entrance finally appears ahead. The driver pulls into the emergency bay and brakes, and I throw open the door. Gathering Reeva carefully into my arms, I carry her towards the entrance as the medical staff rush to meet us with a stretcher.
With their help, I lower her onto it, struggling to keep my voice steady.
“My wife is nearly eleven weeks pregnant. She fell down several stairs, lost consciousness, and she’s bleeding.”
A doctor immediately bends over Reeva, assessing her airway and breathing before checking her pulse and pupils.
Without looking up from Reeva, the doctor addresses the nurse.
“Insert two IV lines and send blood for a complete count, blood group, Rh typing, and cross-match. Alert obstetrics and the trauma team. Arrange an urgent ultrasound as soon as she is stable, and have her head injury assessed immediately.”
The nurses respond at once, wheeling her towards the emergency treatment room.
I follow, but another nurse steps into my path.
“Sir, you’ll need to wait outside while we stabilise and examine her.”
“I am her husband.”
“I understand, but the medical team needs room to work.”
“I am not leaving her.”
“Mr. Rajvansh.” The doctor turns towards me, her expression firm but not unkind. “Every second matters right now. Please let us help your wife.”
Every instinct inside me rebels, but I force my feet to stop as the doors close between us.
For several seconds, I remain frozen in the corridor, staring at the barrier that has taken both my wife and unborn child beyond my reach.
Then the strength deserts my legs. I stagger towards the nearest wall and brace myself against it, clenching my bloodstained hand into a fist as I squeeze my eyes shut. Reeva’s blood is still warm against my skin, and the sensation threatens to bring me to my knees.
“Shaurya!”
Dadiji’s trembling hands settle on my shoulders. I open my eyes to find her standing before me with Mom beside her.
“What did the doctors say?” Dadiji asks desperately.
“They’re still examining her.” The admission scrapes my throat raw.
Dadiji immediately presses her palms together and closes her eyes. “Krishna, protect my child. Protect both of them.”
“Please just keep my grandchild safe,” Mom whispers, her voice breaking.
Anger cuts through my panic. Even now, her first concern is the baby, not the woman bleeding behind those doors.
A terrible suspicion rises inside me as I pin her with a glare.
“What happened while I was taking that call?”
Her brows draw together. “What do you mean?”
“Reeva was fine when I left. When I returned, she looked as though someone had shattered her.” I step closer, holding her gaze. “What happened, Mom?”
The remaining colour drains from her face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie to me, Mom.”
“Shaurya,” Dadiji says softly, placing one hand against my arm. “This is not the time.”
“It is exactly the time.” I refuse to look away from my mother. “What did you say to my wife?”
My voice thunders through the corridor. Several people turn towards us, but I don’t care.
Mom flinches.
Dadiji immediately steps between us. “Enough. Reeva and the baby need you calm right now.”
I drag both hands through my hair and turn away before rage makes me say something I cannot take back.
Dadiji reaches for my hand. “I’ll call Meena. She should know what has happened.”
I nod numbly. She gives my fingers a reassuring squeeze before moving a short distance down the corridor to make the call.
“If anything happens to either of them…” I begin as I turn back to Mom, but the possibility is too unbearable to voice.
“Nothing will happen,” she assures me, though the tremor in her voice carries none of the certainty I desperately need.
I lean against the wall, unable to tear my gaze from the emergency room doors, while Mom lowers herself onto one of the nearby chairs.
The minutes crawl past with unbearable slowness. Each time the doors swing open, my heart leaps with desperate hope, only to plummet when a nurse or technician passes without speaking to us.
Dadiji eventually returns. “Meena is on her way,” she tells me. “She asked us not to call Rudra yet. She’ll speak to him herself once we know more.”
I manage another numb nod.
Dadiji takes the seat beside Mom, presses her palms together, and begins to pray. Their whispered pleas fill the corridor while I remain standing, trapped between hope and the paralysing terror of losing everything that matters to me.
Nearly forty minutes later, the doctor finally emerges.
I reach her first, with Mom and Dadiji close behind me.
“How is my wife?”
“Mr. Rajvansh, your wife is stable.”
A broken breath tears from me. I close my eyes as relief crashes through me with such force that, for a moment, I cannot speak.
Behind me, Dadiji begins whispering tearful prayers of thanks.
“But,” the doctor continues, and that single word freezes the fragile relief inside me, “the ultrasound has revealed a small subchorionic haemorrhage beside the gestational sac. At present, her cervix remains closed and the baby’s heartbeat is strong.
Both are encouraging signs. However, because she is bleeding while the pregnancy remains viable, we are treating this as a threatened miscarriage. ”
The words slice straight through my relief.
“What exactly does that mean?” Mom asks, her voice trembling.
“The term sounds frightening, but it does not mean she is miscarrying,” the doctor explains.
“The pregnancy is still viable. However, bleeding at this stage places her at an increased risk of miscarriage. We’ve started IV fluids and will monitor her bleeding and vital signs closely.
We’ll also repeat the ultrasound if necessary to reassess the pregnancy. ”
“Can… can I see her?” I stammer, desperate to be near her.
“She is being transferred to a monitored private room now. Once she is settled, you may sit with her.” The doctor’s expression softens.
“Her head CT is clear. There is no fracture or bleeding inside her skull. She has suffered a mild concussion. She regained consciousness briefly during the examination, but she remains extremely drowsy and may drift in and out of sleep. We’ll continue regular neurological observations throughout the night. ”
I nod, unable to force another word past the crushing tightness in my throat.
The doctor offers me one final reassuring glance before walking away.
Dadiji places one trembling hand against my cheek. “They are safe, beta. Have faith.”
Faith.
I no longer know whether I possess any, but I nod for her sake.
Several minutes later, a nurse arrives and leads me to Reeva’s private room. The moment I step inside, my chest constricts painfully.
She looks impossibly fragile against the white hospital sheets. A dark bruise shadows her temple, a clear line of fluid runs through the IV cannula taped to the back of her hand, and the monitor beside her traces the steady rhythm of her heart.
My gaze drops instinctively to her stomach.
Our baby is still there.
That tiny, precious heartbeat is still fighting.
I cross the room and lower myself into the chair beside her bed. Taking her hand carefully between mine, I lift it to my lips and press a lingering kiss against her cold fingers.
“I am sorry,” I whisper against her knuckles. “I should never have left you alone.”
I press my forehead against our joined hands as the tears I have been holding back finally escape.
“Please don’t leave me, sweetheart.” My fingers tighten gently around hers. “I’ve only just found my way back to you. I cannot lose you now. I cannot lose either of you.”
As I sit beside her, clinging to her hand and the steady beeping of the monitor, my fear slowly hardens into a silent, merciless vow.
Whoever placed that devastation in her eyes will answer to me.