Last words
The doctor stepped into the room, rain still clinging to his coat, his sharp eyes taking in the bloodstained sheets, the pale woman trembling on the bed, and the fear etched on every face around her.
"How long has she been in labor?" he asked immediately, his voice calm but firm, cutting through the chaos.
"Since evening," a servant answered shakily. "The pains started at home… they kept getting worse."
The doctor's jaw tightened. He moved to the bedside at once, placing two fingers on her wrist, then pressing gently against her abdomen. "She's exhausted," he said grimly. "Her body is struggling."
The mother whimpered, her voice weak. "Doctor… please… my baby…"
"I know," he said softly, leaning closer so she could hear him over her own cries. "Listen to me. You must hold on. Breathe when I tell you to breathe. Don't waste your strength."
He straightened and turned to the husband. "You need to prepare yourself," he said quietly, eyes serious. "This is not an easy labor. There has been too much delay."
The room went still.
"But… she'll be fine, right?" the husband asked hoarsely. "You'll save her?"
The doctor hesitated just for a second but it was enough. "I will do everything I can," he replied honestly. "But right now, our priority is getting the baby out safely. Every minute matters."
He turned back to the servants, his voice sharper now. "Hot water. Clean cloths. More light. Now!"
As they rushed to obey, he murmured under his breath, almost like a prayer, "Please… hold on just a little longer."
And with that, he placed his hands firmly, professionally, on the woman who was already slipping toward the edge where life and death waited in cruel silence.
The husband swallowed hard, his throat burning as if he had swallowed fire. His hands trembled at his sides, nails digging into his palms as he forced himself to meet the doctor's eyes.
"No," he said hoarsely, shaking his head. "You have to save her."
His voice cracked, the command falling apart into a plea. "She's already suffered too much. She's been in pain for hours… you can't let her die like this."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice as if the walls themselves might hear his fear. "Take my strength, take my life if you must," he whispered desperately. "Just don't take hers. She hasn't even held the baby yet."
Another cry tore from the bed, sharp and broken, and his breath hitched painfully. He turned his head away for a moment, unable to watch her suffer, then looked back at the doctor with red-rimmed eyes.
"Please," he said again, pride completely gone. "I'm begging you. Bring them both out alive."
His words hung in the air, fragile and trembling spoken by a man who, for the first time, realized that wealth, power, and status meant nothing in the face of fate.
Her cries grew weaker, each one thinner than the last, like a candle struggling against the wind. The room smelled of rain, sweat, and fear. The doctor's voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed the urgency of the moment.
"Now," he said firmly. "One more push. Just one more. You can do this."
She barely nodded, her lips trembling, her lashes wet with tears. With the last of her strength, she pushed her body shaking, her breath breaking apart in her chest.
And then
A sound cut through the room.
A sharp, fragile cry.
Small. Trembling. Alive.
"It's a baby girl," the doctor announced.
The sound filled the space where her mother's voice had been moments ago. The servants gasped softly. One covered her mouth to stifle a sob. The rain outside seemed to pause, as if the world itself was listening.
The baby's cries grew stronger, her tiny lungs announcing her arrival into a world already heavy with loss. Her small fists clenched the air, her face red and scrunched, searching instinctively for the warmth she would never feel.
The mother's chest rose once… then fell.
"Madam?" the doctor called gently, checking her pulse. His fingers stilled.
The husband stepped forward, hope lighting his eyes for just a second. "She did it," he whispered, almost smiling. "She did it… she's..."
The doctor slowly shook his head.
Silence fell like a shroud.
The baby cried on, unaware that the heartbeat she had lived beneath was gone forever. Wrapped carefully in a cloth, she was placed briefly on her mother's chestHer breathing was shallow now, each breath thinner than the last, as if her body already knew it was time to let go. The cries of the newborn echoed in the room, fragile yet fierce, and for the first time since the pain began, her lips curved into a faint, trembling smile.
"Let me… see her…" she whispered.
The doctor hesitated, then gently placed the baby close to her, careful, reverent. The tiny bundle squirmed, her cries softening as if she sensed the warmth she had known for months.
The mother's eyes filled instantly.
"So loud…" she murmured weakly, a tear slipping down her temple. "Just like the rain tonight…"
She gathered the last of her strength and turned her gaze to her husband. Her eyes were no longer afraid only tired, achingly gentle.
"Listen to me," she said softly, each word costing her more than breath. "If… if I don't make it… don't let her grow up thinking she was a mistake."
His lips trembled. "Don't talk like that. You'll be fine."
She shook her head slowly, a sad smile breaking through the pain. "Promise me," she whispered. "Love her… even when it hurts to look at her. She's innocent… she didn't choose this."
Her gaze drifted back to the baby, her fingers twitching weakly as if trying to reach her cheek.
"Fallon," she breathed.
The room stilled.
"Her name is Fallon," she said again, clearer this time, as if the name itself gave her strength. "Strong… but gentle. Let her live… better than I did."
Her chest rose once, a shallow breath trembling through her body. "Fallon… my Fallon…"
Her eyes lingered on the baby for one last heartbeat full of love, regret, and a sorrow too deep for words.
Then her hand fell limp.
And the only sound left in the room was the quiet, broken crying of a newborn named Fallon, crying into a world that had taken her mother the moment it gave her life.
The doctor stayed still for a long moment, two fingers pressed gently against her wrist. Too long.
The room held its breath.
"Doctor?" the husband whispered, his voice barely holding together. "She's just tired… right?"
The doctor slowly lifted his hand.
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
The words were quiet, almost gentle but they struck like thunder.
"I did everything I could," he continued, his voice low and steady, as if afraid to break what little remained in the room. "Her body gave everything it had. She lost too much blood… she couldn't hold on any longer."
The husband stared at him, unmoving. "No," he said under his breath. "She was talking just now. She named the baby… she "
"I know," the doctor replied, his eyes filled with a sadness he had learned to carry from room to room. "She held on long enough to see her child. That was all the strength she had left."
The baby cried again small, sharp, alive.
The doctor turned slightly, his voice dropping even lower.
"Time of death," he said, glancing at his watch, "one minute past midnight."
One of the servants broke down quietly, sinking to her knees. Another covered her mouth, tears spilling freely. The rain outside resumed its steady fall, tapping against the windows like a funeral hymn.
The husband's knees gave way.
He reached for his wife's hand, still warm, still familiar. "You promised," he whispered brokenly. "You promised you'd stay…"
But she did not answer.
The doctor stepped back, giving him space, his expression solemn. "She died bravely," he said. "She died as a mother."
And in the center of the room, beneath the soft glow of the lamp, a newborn named Fallon cried on unaware that the voice meant to comfort her for a lifetime had already gone silent.
The husband laughed softly once.
It was a broken sound, empty and wrong.
"You're mistaken," he said, shaking his head slowly. "My wife doesn't give up that easily."
He clutched her hand tighter, as if warmth alone could pull her back. "She was just speaking. She named our daughter. You heard her… didn't you?"
His voice trembled, cracking under the weight of hope he refused to release.
"Check again," he whispered hoarsely. "Please. I'll wait. I'll wait as long as you need."
The doctor didn't move.
That was when it hit him.
His chest caved inward, breath leaving him in a harsh, painful gasp. His forehead dropped to the edge of the bed, shoulders shaking violently as his grip tightened on her lifeless fingers.
"I told you to save her," he muttered, rage and grief tangling in his voice. "I begged you."
Then his tone broke completely.
"I should have been the one," he whispered. "She was scared… and I couldn't take the pain for her."
He lifted his head slowly, eyes red, hollow, unfocused as he finally looked at the doctor.
"She trusted you," he said quietly. "And now she's gone."
Silence swallowed the room.
After a long moment, he straightened, wiping his face with trembling hands. His voice dropped into something cold, exhausted, and final.
"Leave us," he said. "All of you."
The doctor hesitated, then bowed his head in respect before turning away.
And the husband stayed lone between a crying newborn and the woman who had given him everything… and paid for it with her life.
The moment the truth finally settled in his chest, his body betrayed him.
His fingers loosened around her hand.
His knees buckled.
He took one step back as if the world had tilted and then he collapsed to the floor, the sound of his body hitting the cold ground echoing through the room like a final verdict.
"No…" he breathed.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't dramatic.
It was the sound of a man being emptied of everything he was.
His chest convulsed violently as air refused to enter his lungs. Each breath came sharp and broken, like glass cutting into him from the inside. His hands clawed weakly at the floor, nails scraping against stone as if he could anchor himself to reality.
"She was just here…" he murmured. "She was right here…"
His shoulders shook uncontrollably. The image of her smile faint, exhausted, loving burned behind his eyes. Her voice. Her last words. The way she said the baby's name.
Fallon.
A sound tore out of him then raw, animal, stripped of dignity. He pressed his fist against his chest, as if trying to keep his heart from shattering completely.
"I couldn't save you," he sobbed. "I promised you… I promised…"
The servants stood frozen, tears streaming freely now. One turned away, unable to watch a powerful man reduced to grief on the floor. Another sank down beside the wall, whispering prayers through her sobs.
The baby cried again.
That cry broke him.
He lifted his head, eyes wild and wet, staring at the tiny life she had left behind. His wife was gone cold, silent, unreachable yet her pain had given the world something living, breathing, demanding love.
He dragged himself upright using the bed, trembling violently. His forehead pressed briefly against the mattress where she lay, his lips brushing the back of her hand one last time.
"I'll raise her," he whispered, voice hollow. "I'll love her enough for both of us."
His strength finally gave out again.
He slid back down to the floor, sitting there in ruin, while rain battered the windows and a newborn named Fallon cried into a world that had stolen her mother… and broken her father in the same breath.
The moment the doctor stepped out of the room, the truth followed him.
It traveled down the corridor in broken breaths and trembling whispers.
"She's… she's gone," one maid murmured, her hands shaking so badly she nearly dropped the basin she was holding.
Another servant pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes wide with disbelief. "The madam?" she whispered. "No… she was smiling just yesterday."
"She died giving birth," an older servant said softly, voice thick with grief. "The heavens are cruel."
Someone began to cry.
Not loudly just quiet, restrained sobs that slipped through clenched teeth. The kind of crying servants learned to do so they wouldn't be punished for feeling too much.
"Did you hear the baby?" a young maid asked hesitantly. "She's alive… but without a mother."
A heavy silence followed.
"That child…" another whispered, glancing nervously toward the room. "Every time the master looks at her, he'll see the madam's death."
"Don't say that," the older servant snapped sharply, though tears streamed down her face. "The baby is innocent."
"Innocent or not," someone else murmured, lowering their voice even more, "this house will never be the same."
They all felt it the shift.
The warmth that once filled the halls had vanished, replaced by something cold and hollow. Laughter would disappear. Smiles would become rare. And the master… the master had changed forever.
One maid knelt quietly, folding her hands together. "May her soul rest in peace," she whispered. "She was kind to us. She deserved better."
Another servant wiped her tears quickly as footsteps echoed nearby. "Be careful," she hissed. "If the master hears us…"
But even fear couldn't stop the grief.
Behind closed doors, the servants mourned in silence crying for the woman who had treated them gently, and for the child named Fallon, born into love… and loss.