"Push, push, push harder!"
The cries of the nurses tore through the delivery room, sharp and urgent. Their voices carried both command and desperation.
"I'm trying," the woman gasped, her words broken by exhaustion. "But my strength… it's failing me."
Sweat poured down her pale face under the harsh lights. Strands of hair clung to her damp skin as her body shook violently.
Her veins strained with effort, but her body no longer obeyed.
"No—don't stop now!" one nurse urged, leaning close. Her tone wavered between firmness and pleading. "Just a little more, one more push and your baby will be here!"
The woman's chest rose and fell in uneven bursts. Her arms dropped weakly at her sides, her cries reduced to thin murmurs of pain.
Her eyelids fluttered. With a fading voice, barely audible, she whispered, "I… can't."
The room fell into stillness. Nurses exchanged quick, alarmed glances. The head midwife broke the silence with a sharp command:
"Call the doctor. Now. She's stopped contracting."
The door burst open moments later. The doctor strode in, his face grave but controlled. His gaze swept over the woman, then to the monitor that displayed faltering signs.
"She's in danger," he said flatly. Pulling out his pen, he scribbled rapidly. "We must strengthen the contractions at once."
He snapped toward the staff. "Prepare an oxytocin drip. Immediately."
Nurses moved in unison. One tore open sterile packs, another adjusted the IV stand, and within minutes the clear solution dripped into the woman's veins.
"Come on… respond," one nurse muttered under her breath, watching her chest rise and fall shallowly.
For a moment, a spark of hope hung in the air. But half an hour passed, and nothing changed. Her womb remained weak.
Her body lay unresponsive. Each second dragged like an eternity.
Then suddenly, her head lolled to the side. Her body sagged.
"She's losing consciousness!" a nurse shouted, panic cracking her voice.
Chaos erupted. Hands rushed to check her pulse, voices clashed in panic. The doctor's sharp voice cut through the noise.
"Enough. She cannot deliver normally. Prepare the operating theater at once."
The room froze. He continued, his voice low but hard.
"This is cephalopelvic disproportion—the baby's head is too large for her pelvis. If we wait any longer, we risk losing both."
A heavy silence pressed down. Then his voice thundered again:
"Move! Call the surgeons, now!"
The spell broke. Nurses surged into motion, unlocking the bed and wheeling it toward the corridor.
The metal frame rattled against the floor as hurried footsteps echoed through sterile halls.
Beside the bed, one nurse gripped the woman's limp hand, whispering, "Hold on. Don't give up now. Just a little longer."
Another leaned close to her ear as they rushed. "Your baby's fighting too. Stay with us, stay with your child."
The woman's lips parted faintly, no words forming, only a shallow exhale.
The doctor walked alongside, eyes locked on the monitors. His jaw was set like stone.
"Faster," he ordered without looking up. "Every second counts."
The bed turned a corner sharply, the fluorescent lights overhead streaking past.
The corridor seemed endless, yet each step carried them closer to the knife's edge, where mother and child hovered between life and death, and only speed and skill could decide the outcome.
---
Gloria Hernández never opened her eyes again after the surgery. The room that had echoed with desperate cries now stood heavy with silence.
A mother's breath had faded, but in exchange, a fragile new life had entered the world.
What she left behind was a baby girl, so small, so delicate, yet already radiant with beauty.
Her skin was very light, untouched by the harshness of the world.
Thick strands of jet-black hair framed her tiny face, and when her eyelids fluttered open, they revealed large, glistening eyes—wide, innocent, and unknowing.
The child's very presence seemed too pure for such a cruel and unyielding world. But even in her first moments of life, there was no family gathered to welcome her.
No warm arms of a mother, no trembling father waiting in the hallway, no relatives to whisper her name with joy.
The only family she had, the woman who had carried her—lay lifeless, claimed by the very surgery that had given her existence.
With no records, no relatives, no one to step forward and claim her, the hospital entrusted the infant to the only place left for children without a home: Hope Orphanage.
It was there, within walls that rang with both laughter and sorrow, that her new life began.
The sisters who ran the orphanage took her into their care, and they gave her a name—Adriana.
Adriana grew, and with each passing year her beauty only deepened.
She carried a quiet grace that made her stand out. Her very light skin, her raven-dark hair, and her luminous eyes drew admiration.
But it was not only her appearance, it was her heart. She was gentle, kind, and compassionate in ways that even the caretakers noticed early on.
The sisters adored her. They often found comfort in her warm smile and the way she helped with the younger children.
But not every child shared that affection. Among her peers, envy brewed. Some of the other children, hardened by their own wounds and jealous of the attention she received, turned cold toward her.
Whispers followed her steps, and sometimes cruel words were hurled in the shadows of the orphanage halls.
Yet Adriana endured. She never answered hatred with hatred. She carried herself with quiet dignity, her kindness unbroken by the bitterness around her.
When she reached the age of fourteen, Adriana's life changed forever.
One morning, word spread through the orphanage like wildfire: a visitor had come.
Not just anyone, but a man of wealth and stature—Mr. González, a powerful and influential figure in the Capital City.
No one knew what had brought him to Hope Orphanage, but when his eyes fell upon Adriana, something settled in his heart.
The beauty she carried, the innocence she had preserved despite hardship, and the quiet strength within her drew him in.
And so, Adriana—once a motherless newborn, left alone in this world—was chosen.
Adopted into a life far removed from the orphanage, she stepped across the threshold into a new destiny, one that would bind her fate with the power and wealth of Mr. González.