*****

“Landon?” Derik’s voice pulls me out of my memories. “How is she? Is she okay?” Derik asks.

“She’s…She’s…I don’t know…The baby…The blood…” I ramble.

“Why is there so much blood? Mom! Mom! Wake up! Wake Up.”

“Landon, it’s going to be okay. Sometimes there’s complications, but doctors are trained for these incidents,” Derik says, trying to calm me down.

“They said they have to do an emergency C-section. They said she had placenta abruption. She’s not due for another three weeks,” I say in a daze. I look down at my hands which still have blood on them from me carrying her into the hospital. My hands seem to blur in front of me as memories pour into my head. Memories of sitting in a waiting room just like this one.

*****

“Where’s my mom? Is she going to be okay?” I ask the doctor.

“They’ve taken her into surgery know. Looks like your head is going to need some stiches. We should get that taken care of,” he says calmly.

“I don’t want to take care of a few measly stiches, I want to know how my mom is,” I demand.

“I know, sir. She’s in surgery now, and we’ll update you as soon as we can, but until then you need medical attention,” he says again.

“Who’s doing the surgery if you’re out here?”

“Your mom has a very good general surgeon and our head of trauma unit working on her.”

“I don’t want her to have a good surgeon; she needs a great surgeon.”

“Landon.” A voice booms down the hall.

I turn to see my dad storming down the hallway. “Dad, it’s mom she’s…the car…the blood…” I try to explain through my shock.

“You’re Mr. Campbell, I presume? Lily Campbell’s husband?” the doctor asks. My father nods. “As I’ve just explained to your son, she’s in surgery now. We’ll update you as soon as we know more.”

“Thank you, doctor. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like a word with my son.”

The doctor gave a quick nod before walking away.

My dad put his arm on my shoulder, guiding me to an empty conference room. “The police want to question you; you will say nothing,” my dad says in a no-nonsense voice the second the door closes.

“My lawyer’s on his way. He said not to say anything. Hopefully, we can keep this to community service and keep it out of your record,” he says, glancing down at his phone.

“Off my record? Dad, I drove your Cadillac through the kitchen and ran over mom. Your wife!”

“I know, you gobshite! What do you think the university is going to do when they get wind of this? They are going to kick you out. If you’re lucky, I might be able to call in a favor to make sure they don’t hear about this.”

I shake my head, sure I am hearing him wrong. “Dad, do you hear yourself right now. Mom might die, I might have killed her. And all you care about is keeping this out of my record, so I can go to school.”