Two Hours Before My Wife Bled Out, I Froze Every Account

At 2:17 a.m., I woke up five hours before my wife was supposed to die.

In my first life, my mother told me the two million dollars I had entrusted to her was gone. By the time I found enough money for my wife’s emergency surgery, I had lost her and our unborn child.

This time, I froze every account before my family could take another cent.

Then my mother called.

She needed $180,000 by morning—and she was willing to let my wife die to get it.

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At five in the morning, I woke Maya.

"Ethan?" She blinked at me, still half asleep. "What's wrong?"

"We're going to the hospital."

"Now? I feel fine."

"I called ahead for an urgent prenatal check. The earlier we get there, the better."

She studied my face. Whatever she saw kept her from arguing. She sat up slowly and let me help her dress.

On the way to City First Medical Center, I called Dr. Faith Turner, the obstetrician I knew through a company health program. In my last life, she had not been on shift when Maya was rushed in. I was not leaving that to luck again.

She picked up on the fourth ring, voice rough with sleep.

"Ethan Hale? It's barely dawn."

"Dr. Turner, my wife is thirty-six weeks pregnant. I need you to check her for placenta previa. Full exam, ultrasound, anything you need. Cost doesn't matter."

A pause.

"Why placenta previa? Did her last scan show something?"

"Call it instinct. Please."

Another pause, shorter this time.

"Get here before eight. I'll arrange it."

Maya watched me end the call.

"You've been under too much pressure lately," she said.

I wrapped my hand around hers. "I just want you and the baby safe."

She smiled and leaned back against the window.

I had not seen that smile after this day in my last life. Not once.

At eight sharp, Dr. Turner was waiting in the exam room. Bloodwork, monitoring, ultrasound. The minutes scraped by.

When the report came out, Dr. Turner's expression changed.

"Why didn't the previous clinic catch this?" she said under her breath.

She handed me the report. "Complete placenta previa. The placenta is sitting low, right over the cervix. She needs admission now. Bed rest and surgical readiness. If she bleeds, we move fast."

Maya went pale. "Is it that bad?"

"It can be," Dr. Turner said. "That's why we don't wait."

I took the papers. My hands did not shake.

"Admit her. I'll pay the deposit now."

I used the only card I had not frozen, a credit card with a high enough limit to hold us for a few days. Maya was moved into a private room. I poured her water, tucked the blanket around her knees, and sat beside the bed.

"Don't be scared," I told her.

"I'm not." Her eyes were red. "I just feel like I'm causing trouble."

"Don't ever say that. You and the baby are the only things that matter right now."

She squeezed my fingers until she drifted off.

Only then did I open my phone.

The last message from my mother, Helen Zhou, was three days old.

Ethan, did your salary come in this month? Ryan is short on cash again. Send it to me and I'll handle it.

In my last life, I had replied, It came in. Use what you need, Mom.

This time, I left the message unanswered.

A new text appeared from Gordon Cole, my stepfather.

Why can't your mother withdraw from your card today? Is there a limit? Fix it.

There it was.

A day earlier than last time.

That meant they needed my money today.

I turned the screen facedown and sat back in the chair.