COLD TRAP

Chapter 77 

MATTEO 

It’s been two days since we last had a conversation; my wife and I. 

Two days of awarding each other some space. Two days of silence, of intense thoughts. 

I love her–there’s no doubt about what I feel for her and what lengths I am willing to go for her happiness. And yet, I find myself wallowing in the trenches of guilt and regret. 

In the moments when she allowed her vulnerability to surface, confessing her fear of carrying another child, my only thought was that video I had seen months ago. 

The one which serves as proof of the pain she had to endure to bring forth those beautiful kids. 

She fears that she’ll have to undergo the same pain if she tried bringing forth another child. But there I was, judging her moral standing the moment her father whispered those words to me. 

I called her gullible, yet, I have proven to be the gullible one. 

I am on the phone with one of my major distributors when my office door creaks open. My wife peeks her head through and flashes me a beautiful smile before pushing the door completely open. 

I drop the phone with immediate effect, paying her all my attention to which she snickers as she approaches me with gentle, yet sultry steps. 

“How do I look?” She asks with a smile, her ass meeting the edge of my desk. 

I place both palms on her thighs, rubbing to and from when I answer, “sei così bella.” She smiles wider. “So fucking delicious.” 

“Haha,” she mimics a laugh. “I didn’t know you could speak, considering the effort you’ve put into giving me the silent treatment the past two days.” 

I chuckle humorously. “I thought you wanted space.” 

“You’re always thinking the wrong things, baby. Perhaps you should stick to not having any thoughts; I’m sure you’ll do well in that department.” She jests, sliding her ass off my desk and approaching the door. I’ll be at the Lab for…” 

She stops. She goes completely still–both in words and in footsteps. A sharp gasp escapes her, forcing my brows into a furrow. 

“What’s wrong?” I ask, immediately getting off my seat when she mumbles my name. I move faster, reaching for her, my heart pounding when she stumbles backwards. 

“Mirabella, are you feeling alright?” As I ask the question, I spin her around so that she’s facing me. My blood runs cold at the sight. 

Stains of blood lines her thighs, her hand held midway as she stares at the bloodstained palm with frantic breaths. 

“Matteo,” she breathes out a shaky breath, her body trembling. 

My name, that’s all I need to know what this is. Tears cascade down her face and I shake my head at her. “Don’t cry, baby. You’re alright…this is not happening.” 

My words are spoken urgently, my actions fast, panic coursing through my bones. 

I lift her off the ground bridal style and run for the stairs. When inside my car, I turn on the ignition and speed off like a crazy man. 

“I’m losing the baby, Matteo,” my wife chants continuously. She’s crying, and I wish to cry with her, to show how much I share in her pain, yet I hold myself together. 

We cannot both fall apart at the same time. 

So all I do is console her the best I can. With one hand clutching hers protectively and assuringly, I drive swerve through the slow–moving traffic. Few blocks away from the hospital, the slow–moving vehicles on the road go completely still, causing a hold 

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I try to maneuver as best I can, but we are completely stuck. Mirabella’s painful grunts fill me with more panic and a rush of anger. 

“Fuck!” I growl, connecting my fist with the steering wheel. The hunk goes off as I hit the wheel; and I don’t stop until I feel Mirabella’s hand on my 

arm. 

The red of her blood shines on my skin, drawing a staggered breath from me. 

As swiftly as I can, I run out of the car, round it up, pull open her side of the door, lean into her and lift her bridal style. 

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“What are you doing?” She cries, panic in her voice. 

“We have no choice but to make a run for it, baby.” I whisper, kissing her forehead. 

She shakes her head, “We can’t, Matteo, we’ll be too late. And…” 

“And nothing, my love.” I assure her, “The hospital is only a few blocks away. Just hold on tight for me.” 

Taking a deep breath, I will my legs to move as fast as I can. My wife’s pale hands clutch my shirt, her face burying into my chest. I hear her cries even when she tries to quiet them–I hear her so loud it drives me insane. With every sniffle that rumbles against my chest, I sprint into a ridiculous 

pace. 

With the speed of my pace, it doesn’t take long before we arrive at the hospital. My breathing is erratic, sweat profusely streaking down my face. I heave out sequence of sharp breaths before mustering the energy to speak. 

And when I do speak, I scream like a maniac. 

“There’s an Emergency! My wife’s losing blood!” As I scream, I notice that her soft whimpers have seized and her tight hold on my shirt loosened. “Mirabella,” I whisper, kissing her forehead. She’s silent, her eyes closed, her body pale. “Mirabella, Tesoro, please open your eyes…” 

The silence remains. It drives me completely insane. So insane I scream out loudly. “Where are the fucking nurses and doctors?! If I have to ask again, I swear to God this hospital will be nothing but bones and ashes!” 

That gets their attention; because apparently, most of them recognize me. 

Before I can blink, my wife is snatched from my hands and placed on a stretcher. As they wheel her into an emergency room, I run behind them, my bloody hand holding her leg in my attempt at keeping her warm. 

They try to stop me from going in with them. I pull my gun out and that idea is killed instantly. 

The moment she’s wheeled into the room and surrounded by doctors, shock and a feeling of overwhelm encases me, forcing my body to shut down. It takes a few short moments before I realize that my name is being called out to. 

A softer voice. My wife–she’s demanding for me. I rush to her side and hold her hand, smacking kisses on her forehead. “It’s alright, my love. You’re okay.” I assure her. 

My wife’s face is pale and worried, ropes of tears cascading down the side of her face. 

The doctor’s words echo in my mind: “She’s having a miscarriage.” 

I feel a wave of fear wash over me as I look at my wife. She’s squeezing my hand tightly, her eyes fixed on mine. I try to stay calm, to be strong for her, but my heart is racing. I can feel the panic rising up inside me, threatening to overwhelm me. 

The doctor speaks again, his face serious. “We’re going to do everything we can to save your baby,” he says. But his words offer little comfort. I know the odds are against us. I’ve been researching miscarriages, and I know that most of the time, there’s nothing that can be done to stop them. “Except she’d prefer to evacuate the baby instead.” The doctor suggests. 

“Yes,” I answer quickly. 

“No.” Mirabella disagrees. 

I look down at her, my expression shocked. “I thought you wanted this…” 

“No anymore, Matteo. I want to have this baby with you, to go on this journey with you. So if the doctors are able to do something to save this child, then let them give it their best.” 

I heave out a breath and place my forehead on her with a whisper of her name. “Mirabella. . .I don’t want anything to happen to you because of this. If it gets to a point where I’d need to choose, I am not letting you go. Okay?” 

“Okay.” She answers. 

I nod my approval to the doctor and they get to work. Now, all I can do is wait, and pray. I feel like I’m outside of my body, watching myself pace the room, my mind racing with thoughts of the worst–case scenario. 

The minutes tick by like hours. I’m acutely aware of every sound, every beep of the machines, every rustle of the nurses‘ scrubs. I’m on edge, waiting for any news, good or bad. 

Finally, the doctor looks at me, his face somber. “We’ve managed to stop the bleeding,” he says. “But your baby is still in distress. We need to monitor them closely for the next 24 hours to see if…” 

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but I know what he’s thinking. If our baby makes it through the night. If our baby survives. I feel a lump form in my throat as I look at my wife, lying in bed, her eyes fixed on mine. I know she’s thinking the same thing. We’re in this together, always. 

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The next 24 hours are a blur of tears and prayers and hope. With close family members here at the hospital with us, everything seems so normal. 

I hold Mirabella’s hand, whispering words of encouragement, trying to stay strong for her. But inside, I’m scared. I’m scared of losing our baby, and mostly of losing my wife–of losing the future we’ve imagined. I’m scared of what this means for our relationship, for our future together. 

But I push those thoughts aside, focusing on the hope that they will make it through. I pray to every higher power I can think of, promising to be a better husband, a better father. 

I do not want my wife going through another loss of this nature for it will break her into irredeemable pieces. 

And then, finally, after what feels like an eternity, the doctor comes in with a smile. “Your baby is stable,” he says. “You’re going to be okay.” 

I feel a wave of relief wash over me, followed by a sense of gratitude. We’ve been given a second chance. And I know, at this moment, that I will never take that for granted. I will never take my wife or our baby or the family we’ve built for granted again. 

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