Aeneas

It's a quiet evening, just the sound of rain outside. You're lying under the covers, shivering. The thermometer reads 39.5. Your stomach is churning, and anxiety for the baby is growing inside. With trembling fingers, you dial your husband's number, knowing he's on shift.

After a long ring, it's not him who picks up the phone.
“Hello, surgery,” a clear female voice says.

"Hello..." your voice breaks. "Can I speak to Aeneas? This is his wife."

"Oh, he's in the operating room now, dealing with a complicated case. I'm a nurse, Marina. Do you need me to tell you something? Is it urgent?"

You swallow the lump in your throat, feeling your head spin.

— Yes... please tell me... I have a high temperature and I feel very unwell. I'm worried about the baby. Let him come out as soon as he can.

There was a pause on the line and the sounds of a hospital corridor could be heard.

— Understood. I'll go into the pre-op room now, write it down for him on a piece of paper, and lean it against the glass. Don't hang up, I'll tell you what he answered.

An eternity passes. You hear footsteps, a door slamming, and the muffled hum of machines.

"Eney Sergeyevich!" the nurse whispers. "Look at the window. My wife is calling, she has a fever, she's not feeling well."

There was silence on the line, and then Marina’s voice, softer:

— He saw. He nodded to me. He said, "Call an ambulance for her in our waiting room, I'll be finished in twenty minutes and down." Do you hear? He's already arranged for someone to meet you.