The surprise baby shower had come and gone, leaving Amoke with a heart full of gratitude and memories she would cherish forever. The gifts, the laughter, the prayers, it was all a reminder of how deeply loved she was.
But as the days passed, her mind shifted to the reality before her. Her belly grew heavier, her steps slower, and her nights longer. She was nearing her due date, and with each passing day, a blend of excitement and quiet anxiety filled her heart. Her husband became even more attentive. He barely left her side, running errands, cooking, and reminding her constantly to rest. Each evening, he would place his hand over her stomach, smiling whenever the baby kicked. "Soon," he would whisper, his eyes glowing with expectation. Amoke busied herself with folding the baby's clothes, arranging the crib, and knitting tiny socks. She prayed often, asking God for strength and a safe delivery. Yet, in quiet moments, the echoes of her blurry memories returned, reminding her of the shadows she had chosen to push aside. Still, she told herself that nothing else mattered now except the safe arrival of her child. The hour was drawing near, and her heart was ready to embrace the new chapter of motherhood.
A few days later, Amoke began to notice the signs. At first, it was just the tightening in her stomach, a dull ache that made her pause in the middle of her chores. She tried to brush it aside, telling herself it was normal, but the pains grew sharper, coming in intervals that left her gripping the edge of the chair for support. Her husband was quick to notice. He rushed to her side, worry etched across his face.
"Amoke… are you alright?" he asked, his hand steadying her trembling one.
She looked at him, her breathing uneven, and whispered with a faint, nervous smile, "I think it's time."
His heart skipped, fear and joy colliding in one swift moment. Without wasting a second, he grabbed the hospital bag they had prepared and held her close, guiding her carefully toward the door.
The hour they had both waited for had finally come.
The hospital lights blurred above her as Amoke was wheeled swiftly into the delivery room. Her heart pounded, not only from the labor pains but from a strange, overwhelming sense of déjà vu. The white walls, the faint smell of antiseptic, the hurried footsteps of nurses, it all felt hauntingly familiar, as though she had lived this exact moment before. Flashes of memory pressed against her mind: muffled voices, pain, and someone's words echoing in the background. She tried to shake it off, focusing instead on her husband's hand tightly clutching hers, his voice whispering steady reassurances. But even through the contractions, the feeling lingered, an unsettling reminder that pieces of her past were still hidden in shadows.
Yet, as the doctor's voice rang out, calm, firm and instructive. Amoke drew in a deep breath, this was not the past. This was her moment, her child, her blessing and she was determined to see it through.
The contractions came in waves, fierce and unrelenting. Amoke gritted her teeth, clutching the sheets as sweat trickled down her forehead. Each breath felt like a battle, yet her heart burned with determination.
Her husband remained by her side, his hand firmly clasped around hers. "You're doing well, Amoke. Just a little more. I'm right here," he whispered, though his own eyes brimmed with tears. The doctor's calm voice cut through the haze of pain, "Push… breathe… push again!"
Amoke cried out, her strength stretched to its limit. For a fleeting moment, fear seized her, what if something went wrong? But then, a surge of willpower rose within her. She had carried this child through months of waiting, praying, enduring. She would not give up now. With one final push, a sharp cry pierced the room. The sound was tiny, fragile, yet it carried the weight of a miracle. Amoke collapsed back onto the bed, tears rolling down her cheeks as relief washed over her. Her husband bent over, pressing a trembling kiss on her forehead.
"It's a girl," the nurse announced softly, placing the tiny bundle into Amoke's waiting arms. Amoke gazed down at the wrinkled, beautiful face, her heart overflowing. The déjà vu faded into nothingness as a new memory replaced it.
"She's perfect," Amoke whispered, her voice breaking with joy.
Her husband nodded, his voice thick. "Yes, she's our blessing."
Amoke held her baby close, breathing in the delicate warmth of her skin. The room was filled with hushed excitement. Her husband's whispered prayers of gratitude, the nurses moving about with gentle efficiency. But then, almost without warning, Amoke's smile faltered. A wave of weakness swept over her body. Her arms trembled, and the baby nearly slipped from her hold before a nurse quickly steadied her.
"Amoke… what is it?" her husband's voice cracked in panic as he leaned closer, seeing the sudden pallor on her face.
"I don't feel strong" she murmured faintly, her eyelids fluttering as if they were too heavy to keep open.
Monitors beeped urgently. The doctor immediately called for assistance, nurses rushing to her side. "We need to stabilize her quickly!"
Her husband's heart raced, torn between holding onto his newborn daughter and refusing to let go of his wife's hand. He bent down, his lips close to her ear, whispering, "Stay with me, Amoke. Please don't leave me now."
The joy of the newborn hung in the air, but now it mingled with fear, fear that the shadows of déjà vu had returned to claim more than just a memory.
Then the doctor stepped forward, his face calm but grave. He said quietly, "May I see you in my office?"A cold shiver ran down his spine. He looked back at Amoke, who now lay with her eyes closed, breathing faintly. She looked too fragile.
"But is she alright? Please, tell me something," he pleaded, his voice shaking.
The doctor placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Come with me. We need to talk."
Every step to the office felt like a journey through quicksand. His mind raced with questions he wasn't ready to ask. Inside, the doctor gestured for him to sit, then closed the door gently behind them.
"Your wife is stable for now," he began, his tone measured, "but her sudden weakness is concerning. We need to run some urgent tests to rule out complications, postpartum hemorrhage or maybe her memories are triggered."
He gripped the edge of the chair, his knuckles white. "Doctor just tell me the truth. Is my wife in danger?"
The doctor paused, meeting his desperate gaze. "At this moment, we are doing everything to make sure she recovers. But yes it is serious, you must prepare yourself."
His breath caught. His heart pounded so loudly he could hardly hear the doctor's words anymore.
"What do you mean by serious?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
The doctor leaned forward. "We're seeing unusual signs. Her blood pressure dropped suddenly, and her body is not responding as quickly as expected after delivery. We suspect there might be hidden complications. We'll need to keep her under close observation and run a few tests."
He rubbed his temples, fighting the weight pressing on his chest. He had been overjoyed minutes ago, holding his daughter for the first time, and now it felt as though joy and fear were wrestling for dominance in his soul.
"Please, Doctor, save her," he said with desperation. "Do whatever you have to. I can't lose her."
Back in the ward, Amoke drifted in and out of consciousness. In her hazy state, shadows of memory clawed their way into her mind: another hospital room, another bed, voices of a woman mocking her, her former husband committing a big offence because she had failed to give him a child. Tears slipped from the corner of her eyes even as her lips trembled. The nurse adjusted her drip, whispering, "Stay strong, Madam Amoke. You have a daughter waiting to be in your arms."
Her fingers twitched weakly at the sound, trying to hold onto that thought and hope. Meanwhile, her husband stood outside the ward, staring through the glass window. He pressed his palm against it, whispering to himself, "This is not your end, Amoke. You are not your past."
He could no longer keep the weight to himself. He sat in the hospital corridor, phone trembling in his hand, before finally dialing his mother's number. The moment she heard his voice, she knew something was wrong.
"Amoke… she's weak, Mama. The doctors are still running tests, i don't know what to do," he said, struggling to keep his composure.
His mother's silence was heavy for a moment, then her voice came firm, filled with both love and worry. "My son, you will not carry this burden alone. I will book a flight this week and be with you. Until then, keep praying and don't leave her side."
Those words brought a sliver of comfort to his heart but he knew his mother couldn't arrive immediately. He needed someone by his side now. Reluctantly, he called his sister. When she picked up and heard the news, she wasted no time. "I'll come to the hospital right away," she said sharply, cutting the line before he could respond. Within an hour, she appeared at the hospital, carrying a small bag and wearing an expression that mixed concern with something less obvious. He was too weary to question her motives, simply embraced her arrival.
"She's inside," he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "The doctors said they need to observe her closely. I don't know if…" His words broke, but his sister held his shoulder."Don't worry. She will be fine," she replied, though her eyes carried a flicker of something unreadable. Together, they walked into the ward where Amoke lay pale and fragile. He reached for her hand, whispering prayers under his breath, while his sister stood quietly at the foot of the bed, staring at Amoke with an expression no one could quite define.
The next morning, the hospital room was unnervingly still. Machines hummed softly beside Amoke's bed, their blinking lights the only sign of life. He had spent the night by her side, his eyes bloodshot, his hand firmly clasping hers as though his grip alone could keep her tethered to him. When the doctor walked in with the nurses, He immediately stood. "Doctor, she hasn't opened her eyes since yesterday… is this normal?" His voice was tight with dread. The doctor leaned over Amoke, carefully shining a small light into her eyes. He adjusted the monitors, checked her pulse, then her reflexes. The silence in the room grew heavier with each passing second. Finally, the doctor straightened and exhaled deeply. "Her body is stable, but she isn't responding as she should. Her consciousness has shut down, what we call a coma."
The words struck him like a hammer. "A coma?" he whispered, his knees threatening to buckle. "Yes," the doctor said gently. "We'll continue to monitor her. Sometimes patients in this state wake up within days, weeks, even longer. But for now, she will need intensive care and constant support. It's critical we do everything possible to keep her condition stable." He pressed his palms against his face, struggling to keep his emotions from spilling. His sister, who stood nearby, gasped dramatically. "A coma? Oh, my God!" she exclaimed, though a shadow of strange satisfaction flickered in her eyes for a fleeting second. The doctor placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Don't give up hope, her vitals are holding. We'll fight for her recovery. But you too must be strong for her and your child."
He turned to look at Amoke, lying motionless with tubes and wires around her. His chest tightened painfully. Bending beside her, he whispered with trembling lips."You are not leaving me, Amoke. Not after everything we've been through. You will wake up and hold our child, I promise."