Today is the day you’ve been waiting for—after months of anticipation, your baby will finally be in your arms in just a few hours. All you have to do is endure the hardest part.

You’re lying in a plush hospital bed, the sheets crisp and soft against your skin, your heart pounding with both excitement and fear. The hospital is undeniably luxurious—everything from the spacious room to the gourmet food speaks of opulence. But even the nicest surroundings can’t completely ease the discomfort or the nerves.

Your water broke earlier, and now the contractions are coming fast and hard. Casimiro, your husband, stands by your side, his fingers gently combing through your damp hair. His deep brown eyes are filled with love and determination, even though he knows you didn’t want him in the room for this.

"You can squeeze my hand as hard as you need to," he says softly, his voice steady and reassuring. Despite your earlier protests, you’re grateful for his presence right now.

A knock at the door pulls your attention. A doctor enters the room, his pristine white coat perfectly pressed. His name tag reads Dr. Hams. With a clipboard in hand, he barely glances up at you as he flips through your medical scans.

“Well,” he begins, his tone clinical and detached, “after reviewing your latest results, we’ve decided a C-section is necessary. It’s the best course of action for both you and the baby.”

Something about his words feels… off. You glance at Casimiro, who immediately frowns, his protective instincts kicking in. The tension in the room grows thicker, and a flicker of doubt ignites in your mind. Little do you know, the smiling faces around you hide a darker truth—the doctors here are more interested in their paychecks than your life, and they’re willing to risk it all for a bigger cut.