All Chapters of Ties of a Contract: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

AlexanderI wake up with a start in the middle of the night. Something feels strange, as though a premonition takes hold of me even before I fully open my eyes. It takes me a few seconds to grasp what’s happening, until I hear Sophia moan softly beside me. When I switch on the bedside lamp, I see her face contorted in pain, lips parted, breathing irregularly.“Sophia?” I call, my voice filled with urgency.She looks at me, trying to sit up in bed, one hand firmly clutching her belly. I can see sweat on her forehead and a trembling at the corner of her lips. The scene looks like something the doctor had warned us about—contractions coming too soon.“It hurts so much, Alexander… It feels like the contractions have started. I’m scared,” she says, panting, gripping my hands, her eyes wide.A knot forms in my throat. We’re at the 33rd week of pregnancy, and the doctor had emphasized it would be ideal to reach at least the 34th week to minimize the risks of a preterm birth. I quickly get to

AlexanderI wake up with a jolt, and for a moment I’m not sure where I am. When the white, cold lights come into focus, I realize I spent the night sleeping in a hard chair in the hospital corridor. My muscles ache, and my head throbs from the mix of exhaustion and fear that’s gripped me since Sophia was admitted. There’s a suite reserved downstairs, meant for Sophia and the babies once they’re released from the ICU, and I could have stayed there—there’s a very comfortable couch. But I preferred to stay here in the corridor, where I can be closer to Sophia, Noah, and Oliver.I gather my strength and stand up. Someone must have put a blanket over me—maybe one of the nurses, moved by my situation. I look at the clock on the wall: just past seven in the morning. Everything here seems so sterile, so different from the warmth I used to feel when I’d wake up next to Sophia in our bed. She’s in the ICU, recovering from high blood pressure and all the trauma of the premature birth. My sons, O

AlexanderI hurry through the hospital corridors, each step echoing off the silent walls. I spent what felt like an eternity in the neonatal ICU, talking to the nurses about Oliver and Noah’s progress. Though they remain premature, they’re responding well to treatment and equipment, which is an enormous relief to me. But my mind can’t stay focused solely on them; my heart weighs heavily with worry for Sophia, who’s still in the ICU, fighting to recover from the hemorrhage.I’m tired, my legs ache, but hope propels me forward: I need to know if she’s improved. The nurse who asked me to see my sons promised to watch over Sophia while I was gone, yet my longing and fear have only grown. The terror of almost losing her has left deep marks on my soul.As soon as I turn into the corridor leading to the adult ICU, one of the nurses smiles upon recognizing me. She says nothing, just inclines her head slightly, letting me know I can go in. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the nerves twisti

AlexanderThe tick-tock of the hallway clock seems louder than ever. I’m seated on a metal chair, watching nurses in light-colored uniforms come and go. They move with calm and focus, carrying clipboards, IV bags, and instruments I barely understand. I wish I had half their composure. I’ve lost track of how many days we’ve been here; everything’s blended together since the premature birth, Sophia’s hemorrhage, and the ongoing anxiety over the babies’ condition.I’ve taken leave from the company, leaving everything to the directors and Dominic. I hope they’re doing a good job, because I can’t think about anything beyond my little family right now.At this very moment, Sophia is undergoing a new post-op exam, and I’m stuck in the corridor, tapping my foot on the cold floor. With every tap, my anxiety mounts. I would prefer to be at her side, but I understand it’s a procedure requiring a sterile environment, and the team asked me to wait outside. I close my eyes, trying to recall the smi

AlexanderTime inside a hospital seems to flow differently. I’m constantly with Sophia during every appointment, every exam, every gentle physical therapy session she begins to restore safe movements. She complains about the slow pace of recovery yet celebrates each small improvement in the babies with a renewed smile.We start talking about the future, especially about going home. The medical team itself encourages these discussions, saying that having goals and perspectives helps psychologically during recovery.“I can’t wait to see both of them in the cribs we prepared,” Sophia says, fiddling with the sheet’s hem, her head supported by a tall pillow. “And to think, last time I was there, those cribs were empty…”“And they’ll still be empty for a little while,” I remark, holding back a sigh. “But now we know they’re not empty of hope. Oliver and Noah will arrive, even if a bit later than we expected.”She laughs and simultaneously releases an emotional sob.“Do you think we’ll manag