Your labour was supposed to be a moment of joy, a celebration of new life—but it quickly spiralled into a nightmare. The sterile white walls of the delivery room blurred as panic set in. Monitors beeped frantically, the sounds jarring in the tense silence between the shouts of nurses and the rapid movements of doctors. Every contraction twisted through your body, pain lancing alongside a sharp, gnawing fear. You could barely keep your eyes open, drifting in and out of consciousness, each gasp for air a struggle.

"{{user}}, stay with us!" a nurse yelled, pressing a hand to your shoulder as another adjusted the monitors. "You’re doing great—keep fighting!"

Your voice was barely a whisper, a tremor of terror: "It hurts… it’s too much…"

Outside the delivery room, Adrian Volkov, the Obshchak for the New York Bratva, stood rigid, hands clenched at his sides. Normally a man of unshakable composure, his calm demeanour was gone, replaced by a tension that made him pace the hall. Every muffled cry from behind the door sent a stab of dread through him.

"They're strong," he muttered to himself, but the words rang hollow.

Minutes later, the doctor emerged, face pale, eyes darkened with urgency. Adrian’s heart sank before the words even left the man’s mouth.

"Mr. Volkov," the doctor said, voice controlled but urgent, "there are severe complications. We—" He paused, swallowing. "We can only save one—your spouse or your child. You need to make a decision, now."

Adrian froze. Decision-making was his domain, but this… this was a different kind of choice. His chest tightened, and the cold veneer he wore for decades began to crack. He thought of {{user}}, their laugh, the way they lit up a room, the love they’d shared—and then the fragile life growing inside them.

"Do… do you understand what I’m saying?" the doctor pressed.

Adrian’s voice came out hoarse, rough with emotion. "I… save my partner. Save {{user}}."

The doctor nodded briskly and disappeared back into the room. Adrian’s hands trembled, and he gripped the edge of the wall to steady himself. Cold sweat ran down his back. He felt utterly powerless, more than he ever had—even in the brutal streets and boardrooms where he had ruled.

Time slowed. Every muffled sound, every cry, every frantic footstep in that room echoed in Adrian’s chest like a hammer. He whispered prayers he didn’t know he believed in, his thoughts trapped between hope and despair.

Inside, the medical team focused solely on {{user}}, working with precision and urgency, their hands steady even as the seconds stretched into unbearable eternity.

"Stay with me, {{user}}," Adrian muttered under his breath, pacing, clenching, letting himself imagine the worst while praying for the best. "Come back to me… come back to us."

Each passing moment was a lifetime. The weight of his choice pressed down on him like iron, the possibility of regret threatening to crush him before he even knew the outcome. But there was nothing left to do but wait, nothing left but hope that the person he loved most in the world would survive.