Chapter 3 - The Sanctuary of White SheetsThe steady thump-thump-thump of the fetal heart monitor filled the small examination room on the third floor of St. Jude’s Medical Center. It was the sweetest sound Jack had ever heard—clearer than a bugle call, more definitive than a victory broadcast.
Clara lay back, the blue hospital gown dwarfing her slender frame. The dark bruise on her cheekbone was beginning to bloom into shades of purple and yellow, a harsh mark on her delicate skin. Jack sat beside her on a metal stool, his hand never leaving hers. His knuckles were calloused and scarred from field maintenance, but his grip was as gentle as a whisper.
“She hated me from the day you proposed,” Clara murmured, looking up at the tiled ceiling. “She thought I was an outsider. Someone who took her golden boy away from her life.”
“It wasn't about you, Clara,” Jack replied quietly, leaning his forehead against the side of her bed. “It was about control. My mother never knew how to love something without wanting to own it. When my father died, she turned the grief into a cage. She wanted me inside it, and when I chose you and the uniform, she treated it like treason.”
The door slid open, and Dr. Martinez, an older obstetrician with silver-streaked hair, stepped inside holding a clipboard. She offered a warm, reassuring smile. “Good news, Sergeant. The placenta shows no sign of abruption. The baby’s distress was secondary to Clara’s adrenaline spike, but both of them are settling down nicely. We’re going to keep her overnight for observation.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Clara breathed, her eyes closing as a tidal wave of exhaustion swept over her.
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When the doctor left, Jack pulled the blanket up over Clara’s shoulders. The hospital room was sterile and silent, save for the monitor’s steady rhythm. For the first time since he landed at Fort Bragg three days ago, Jack allowed his shoulders to sag. He had survived ambushes,IEDs, and dust storms that swallowed the sun—only to find that the most lethal war had been waged in his absence, right inside his own living room.
“Rest, honey,” he whispered, kissing her forehead. “The battle's over out there. I’m standing watch now.”
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