Chapter 4: Torn Apart
The hospital corridor was a bleached-out nightmare. The fluorescent lights buzzed like trapped flies, casting a sickly glow on the scuffed linoleum. Rainwater dripped from Jihyo’s hair and jacket, forming a small, dark puddle around her shoes as she stood frozen just inside the ER entrance, watching the chaos swallow the people she loved.
It happened in jagged, stuttering frames.
Nayeon’s gurney rattled through double doors, a nurse barking stats to a waiting team. “Twenty-two-year-old, postpartum hemorrhage, unassisted delivery, estimated blood loss one liter plus—”
Jeongyeon was right beside it, one hand gripping the rail, her face a mask of pure terror. Then a woman in blue scrubs intercepted her, a hand on her arm, gently but firmly pulling her back. “The baby needs to be assessed in the NICU, just as a precaution. Right this way.”
“But she’s—” Jeongyeon tried to twist away, her eyes locked on Nayeon’s pale profile.
A different, sharper voice cut from the trauma room. “We’re losing her pressure! Get the O-neg ready and page OB stat! She’s crashing!”
The words were a physical blow. Jihyo saw it before she fully understood it. Nayeon’s hand, which had been feebly clutching the chrome rail, went slack. Her fingers unfurled, pale and limp, and slipped off the metal, disappearing behind the swinging doors.
“Nayeon!” Jeongyeon’s scream was a raw, shattered thing. It tore down the hallway, bouncing off the sterile walls. She lunged, but the nurse in blue held fast.
“You need to come with me, now. Your daughter needs you.”
The conflict on Jeongyeon’s face was unbearable. She looked from the closing doors to the nurse, utterly gutted. Her gaze swept the hallway, landed on Jihyo—a brief, desperate connection—before she was led away, stumbling, around a corner marked ‘Neonatal Intensive Care.’
Then the doors swung shut, leaving Jihyo alone in the buzzing, antiseptic silence.
Her legs moved before her mind caught up. She walked stiffly to the closed doors, her wet shoes squeaking. She couldn’t go in. She pressed her forehead against the cool, porthole glass. Inside, it was a controlled storm of motion. Someone was doing chest compressions on Nayeon’s small form. A bag-mask was over her face. The beeping of monitors was a frantic, uneven staccato.
Jihyo’s own breath was too loud in her ears. She could still feel the terrifying give of Nayeon’s abdomen under her hands, the heat of the blood. The waxy pallor of her skin on the bathroom floor. She should have massaged harder. She should have known.
“You can’t be here.”
A tired-looking nurse was at her side, not unkindly guiding her away from the doors.
“She’s my sister,” Jihyo lied, the words automatic.Family got answers. Friends got waiting rooms. “What’s happening?”
“They’re taking good care of her. The obstetric team is here. You need to wait.” The nurse pointed down the hall to a bleak, boxy room with a TV playing silent news.“There. I’ll have someone update you soon.”
Soon felt like a hollow promise. Jihyo drifted into the waiting room. It smelled of stale coffee and dread. She didn’t sit. She stood by the window, watching the storm lash the parking lot lights into shimmering halos. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. It was Jeongyeon.
Jihyo where r u? She’s so tiny. They have her under lights. Shes ok they say. What about Nay? No one will tell me anything. I can’t leave.
Jihyo’s thumbs were clumsy on the screen. In main ER waiting. They’re working on her. Don’t know anything yet. Is baby breathing on her own?Yes. Just small. 4 pounds. They say she’s tough.A pause. Then: I’m so scared.
Me too. Jihyo typed back. Stay with your girl. I’ll find out and come to you.Promise.
An hour ticked by. Each minute was a stone in Jihyo’s stomach. She got a styrofoam cup of water from a cooler and couldn’t drink it. She just watched the door.
Finally, a doctor emerged. Not from the trauma bay, but from the NICU hallway. A woman with a lined, gentle face and a laminated badge that read ‘Neonatology.’ She scanned the room. “Family for Im Nayeon?”
Jihyo was across the room in three strides. “I’m her sister. How is she?”
The doctor’s eyes were careful, assessing. “She’s stabilized. They’ve taken her to interventional radiology. She had a significant uterine atony—the muscle wasn’t clamping down after delivery—and a cervical laceration. They’re attempting to embolize the bleeding vessels. If that doesn’t work, surgery is next.”
The medical terms were cold comfort, but ‘stabilized’ was a rope thrown into a chasm. Jihyo grabbed it. “But she’s alive.”
“She is.It was very close. The blood loss was severe. Your quick actions at home likely saved her life.” The doctor offered a thin, professional smile. “The baby is doing remarkably well. No respiratory distress. Just a little small and cold. She’s with her other mother now. Would you like to see her?”
Jihyo nodded, a sudden, hard lump in her throat.
The NICU was a world of hushed sounds and soft, glowing isolettes. Jeongyeon was a silhouette in a reclining chair by one of them, a tiny bundle against her chest, skin-to-skin under a warmed blanket. She looked up as Jihyo approached. Her eyes were red-raw, her makeup smudged into shadows.
“Hey,” Jihyo whispered.
Jeongyeon just shook her head, a fresh tear tracking down her cheek. She shifted the blanket slightly. Jihyo looked down.
All the chaos, the blood, the terror, condensed into this one, perfect fact. A tiny face, scrunched and peaceful in sleep. A puff of dark hair. Incredibly small fingers splayed on Jeongyeon’s collarbone.
“They said they stopped the bleeding,” Jeongyeon murmured, her voice scraped hoarse. “For now. They won’t let me see her. They said maybe in a few hours.”
“She’s a fighter,” Jihyo said, the words sounding inadequate.
“They named her,” Jeongyeon said, looking back at the baby. “In the chaos. The paramedics asked me. I just said… I said ‘Soo-jin.’ It was the only name we could agree on. Nayeon wanted something strong.”
“Soo-jin,” Jihyo repeated.It fit.
They sat in silence for a long while, the only sound the gentle hum of the equipment and Soo-jin’s tiny, snuffling breaths. The adrenaline was leaching from Jihyo’s body, leaving a deep, bone-aching tremor in its place. She looked at her hands, still faintly marked with traces of pink under the nails, now clean.
“You delivered her,” Jeongyeon said, not looking up. “You brought her here.”
“I almost didn’t.”
“But you did.”
A nurse came by, checked Soo-jin’s temperature, nodded approvingly. “She’s a little champ. Warming up nicely.”
When she left, Jeongyeon’s composure cracked. Her shoulders began to shake, a silent, awful sob that made the baby stir. “I heard them say ‘crashing.’ I felt her hand let go. I thought that was it. I thought I’d have to choose which one of them to go to.”
Jihyo reached over, squeezing Jeongyeon’s knee. There were no words for that.None at all.
Another hour passed before a different nurse found them. “Im Nayeon is out of IR. She’s in the Surgical ICU for monitoring. She’s sedated, but you can sit with her for a few minutes. One at a time.”
Jeongyeon looked torn, glancing from the sleeping baby on her chest to the door.
“Go,” Jihyo said. “I’ll stay with her. They’re not going to kick me out of the NICU if I’m just sitting here. See Nay. Tell her we’re here.”
With careful, aching slowness, Jeongyeon transferred the sleeping Soo-jin into Jihyo’s waiting arms. The weight was nothing. The weight was everything. Jihyo settled back into the chair, the warm little body a universe against her own.
She watched Jeongyeon walk away, her steps unsteady, towards a different kind of waiting.
Alone, Jihyo looked down at Soo-jin’s face. She thought of Nayeon’s fierce, terrified eyes in the bathtub, of the phone cutting through the storm with Dr. Lee’s calm instructions, of the terrible, crucial slide of a tiny arm. She thought of blood on white tiles, and now, this quiet, steady breath against her neck.
Outside, the rain had softened to a drizzle. The storm was moving on. Inside, the real work was just beginning.