It wasn’t fear or pain written across her features—it was surrender.
The midwife stepped closer.
“Hello,” she said gently. “I’ll stay with you until the baby is born. May I examine you?”
The midwife leaned down to check—and suddenly let out a sharp scream.
“Call a priest right now!”
No Heartbeat
Where there should have been the steady sound of a tiny heart, there was only silence. She tried again—pressed harder, adjusted her hand, held her breath. Nothing.
Her face drained of color.
“I can’t hear a heartbeat,” she whispered.
The guards exchanged tense glances as the room grew heavy with dread.
Then, without warning, labor began. The midwife straightened, her voice firm.
“Call a priest! If the child is born without life, we cannot let it leave in silence. There must be a prayer.”
The woman on the bed didn’t speak. She only gripped the sheet with trembling fingers.
And then—a faint sound. At first, like a distant echo. Then stronger. The heartbeat was there. Weak. Uneven. But alive.
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