Listening to the nurse's shouts made Angela's mind buzz.
She was frustrated and upset, but she knew this wasn't the time to question anything. She simply held Mia's hand tightly, trying to give her strength.
"It's okay. I'm here. Go at your own pace." Tears rolled down Angela's face before she even realized she was crying. "You're so strong, so brave. This is just childbirth—you've got this."
At this moment, Mia was drenched in sweat, looking as if she had just been pulled out of a body of water.
The sheets beneath her were soaked in blood. Even though Angela had mentally prepared herself for this, witnessing it firsthand pushed her tolerance to an unimaginable limit.
Giving birth wasn't just walking through death's door—it was being torn apart and pieced back together again.
Whether it was Mia's spirit or her body, at this moment, it no longer belonged to her. She had become nothing but a vessel for the child. Just the thought of it was heartbreaking.
Unfortunately, all mothers had to go through this. If they were lucky enough to meet a decent man, then their suffering wouldn't be in vain.
But if they weren't so lucky, then it was nothing but tragedy. No one would care about their suffering, let alone feel sorry for them.
Mia's agonizing screams filled the room, making Angela feel heartache and helplessness. She tried to encourage Mia with words, but it was useless.
The smell of blood was everywhere. It made Angela feel suffocated. For a moment, she wanted to run away.
Never in her life had she felt so powerless or overwhelmed with worry and fear. She was afraid that something would go wrong.
If she felt like this, Mia must be suffering a thousand times more.
This torment lasted for a full three hours. Then, finally, the sound of a baby's weak cry echoed through the room.
A boy, barely five pounds, curled up in the nurse's arms like a tiny kitten.
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