The sterile glow of the overhead lights made the maternity reception at St. Claire’s Medical Center in Philadelphia feel colder than it should have. The walls gleamed in pale shades of blue, the air smelled faintly of antiseptic, and yet there was no warmth—none of the comfort a woman in pain longed for.
Isabelle Laurent, twenty-nine and in her seventh month of pregnancy, shifted uncomfortably in her chair, one hand pressed against her abdomen. Her physician, Dr. Monroe, had urged her to come immediately after she reported persistent cramping that morning. She had expected urgency and reassurance. What she met instead was dismissal.
At the front counter, Nurse Brenda Wallace, a woman with graying hair and a brisk, clipped manner, barely looked up when Isabelle approached.
“Good afternoon, my name is Isabelle Laurent,” Isabelle said softly, steadying her voice. “Dr. Monroe told me to come in right away. I’m having abdominal cramps.”
