Between Two Doors
Chapter 52 – Between Two Doors
Hospitals had a way of flattening everything.
Joy.
Fear.
Status.
Religion.
Family politics.
All of it became the same colour under fluorescent lights.
White walls.
Grey floor.
Blue signage.
A beep somewhere that never stopped.
Belle thought the best wishes party was chaos.
The hospital was a different kind of chaos.
Not loud.
Procedural.
A slow machine that demanded obedience.
And in that machine, everyone’s love had to learn a new language:
wait.
Aleem parked too quickly.
Mak clicked her seatbelt off before the car fully stopped.
“Okay, okay, go,” Mak snapped. “Wheelchair. Don’t be hero.”
“I’m not–” Belle began, then her belly tightened.
Her breath hitched.
Aleem’s hand was on her instantly.
Not squeezing.
Just grounding.
“Breathe,” Aleem murmured.
Mak leaned forward.
“Breathe through your mouth,” Mak ordered. “Don’t clench.”
Belle tried to laugh.
It came out as a weak exhale.
Aleem opened the door, moved around, offered his arm.
Proper.
Not lifting.
Not dragging.
Mak marched into the drop-off zone and flagged a nurse like she owned the building.
“Hello, my daughter-in-law water break,” Mak announced.
Belle blinked.
Daughter-in-law.
Mak said it like it was a fact she had always known.
The nurse nodded calmly.
“Okay, we get a wheelchair,” the nurse said.
Mak turned sharply to Aleem.
“You got IC? You got documents? You got phone?”
Aleem’s jaw was tight.
“Yes,” he said.
Mak narrowed her eyes.
“You sure?”
Aleem inhaled.
“Yes, Mak,” he repeated.
Mak huffed.
“Okay,” she muttered.
Belle’s mother arrived in a blur, hair slightly messy, eyes already wet.
Her mother grabbed Belle’s hand.
“Belle,” her mother whispered. “Okay or not?”
Belle swallowed.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Her mother nodded too hard.
“Okay,” her mother repeated, like a prayer.
Belle’s father appeared behind her mother.
His face was calm.
But his eyes were sharp.
He took in Belle’s posture.
Her breath.
The way Aleem was holding her.
He nodded once.
“Okay,” he said.
And Belle realised her father’s “okay” had evolved.
It wasn’t just permission anymore.
It was a command to be steady.
The wheelchair arrived.
Belle hated it immediately.
Not because she was proud.
Because it made everything feel real.
She sat.
Her belly tightened again.
Pain rose.
Not screaming pain.
But deep.
A tightening that took her breath and reminded her she was no longer the centre.
There was something else inside her that had decided to exit.
Aleem crouched beside her.
His eyes searched her face.
“Do you want pain relief?” he asked softly.
Belle blinked.
Already.
She shook her head.
“Not yet,” she whispered.
Aleem nodded.
“Okay,” he said.
Mak snapped,
“Later she will change her mind, you be ready.”
Aleem nodded.
“Yes, Mak.”
Mak’s eyes narrowed.
“Good,” Mak muttered.
Ivan arrived at the entrance then, breathless but composed.
Crystal was behind him, carrying a bag that looked heavier than a human baby.
“I HAVE THE BAG,” Crystal announced.
Ivan stared.
“I told you to bring the smaller bag,” Ivan said.
Crystal glared.
“This is the smaller bag,” she snapped.
Ivan’s face didn’t change.
“Okay,” Ivan said.
Crystal hissed.
“STOP.”
Even now.
Even here.
Belle laughed weakly.
It helped.
The registration counter was a test of patience.
Forms.
IC numbers.
A nurse asking questions while Belle was trying to breathe.
Mak answered two questions before Belle could open her mouth.
Aleem touched Mak’s wrist lightly.
“Mak,” Aleem said, voice gentle but firm.
Mak paused.
Aleem looked at Belle.
“Tell them what you prefer,” he murmured.
Belle’s throat tightened.
He wasn’t letting anyone speak over her.
Not even his mother.
Mak’s mouth tightened.
But she didn’t argue.
She watched.
Belle swallowed.
“Yes,” Belle said when the nurse asked if she wanted an epidural option explained.
“Yes, please explain,” Belle added.
Aleem’s hand stayed on her shoulder.
Warm.
Steady.
The nurse explained.
Belle listened.
Aleem listened.
He asked one question.
Not for control.
For clarity.
“Is there a point where it’s too late?” Aleem asked.
The nurse answered calmly.
Mak nodded to herself like she was updating her internal plan.
Belle’s mother stood at the side, wringing her hands.
Belle’s father stood slightly behind, quiet.
Holding.
Then the first rule hit.
“Only one birth partner,” the nurse said.
The room narrowed.
Belle’s mother’s face crumpled.
Mak’s eyes sharpened.
Crystal froze mid-step.
Ivan’s gaze went still.
Belle’s mother whispered,
“I… I cannot go in?”
The nurse shook her head gently.
“Not during active labour,” she said. “We will update.”
Belle’s mother’s eyes filled instantly.
Mak’s lips parted, ready to argue.
Belle’s stomach tightened.
The pain rose again.
And then Belle’s father spoke.
Not loud.
Not emotional.
Just the same steady tone he used when life tried to turn into drama.
“Okay,” Belle’s father said.
Mak turned.
Belle’s mother turned.
Belle’s father continued, calm,
“We wait here. Don’t make it harder.”
Don’t make it harder.
Mak’s jaw tightened.
Then Mak exhaled sharply.
“Okay,” Mak muttered.
Belle’s mother swallowed.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Her father’s “okay” wasn’t resignation.
It was protection.
A boundary.
A way of saying:
We don’t add weight to her body.
We hold ours.
They moved into the corridor.
The corridor was long.
Cold.
Rows of chairs bolted to the floor.
People sat with tired faces and plastic bags.
Everyone looked like they were waiting for something life-changing.
Belle felt the threshold approaching.
The doors.
The moment when she would be wheeled away.
Aleem walked beside the wheelchair.
His hand on the handle.
His eyes on Belle.
Mak walked on the other side like a guard.
Belle’s mother walked too close.
Belle’s father walked slightly behind.
ABIX trailed, carrying bags and silence.
Crystal had stopped joking.
Ivan had stopped correcting.
Their faces were serious.
Because this wasn’t a party anymore.
This was the edge.
In a small waiting bay outside the labour ward, the nurse paused.
She looked at Belle.
“Contractions?”
Belle nodded.
The nurse asked more questions.
Pain score.
Fluid colour.
Timing.
Belle answered between breaths.
Aleem didn’t answer for her.
He watched her.
He waited.
He nodded when she spoke.
Belle clung to that.
That he wasn’t taking.
He was supporting.
The nurse looked at Aleem.
“You are the birth partner?”
Aleem nodded.
“Yes,” he said.
The nurse gestured.
“You’ll come in with her,” the nurse said.
Belle’s mother’s face crumpled.
Mak’s eyes narrowed.
Belle’s father’s jaw tightened.
Crystal’s eyes filled.
Ivan’s posture shifted slightly, like he wanted to step forward and do something useful but there was nothing to do.
This was the part where love had no action.
Only waiting.
Belle’s throat tightened.
She looked at her mother.
Her mother’s lips trembled.
“I’ll be here,” Belle’s mother whispered.
Belle nodded.
“I know,” Belle whispered.
Belle looked at Mak.
Mak’s face was stiff.
Her eyes wet.
“Don’t be stubborn,” Mak muttered. “If pain too much, you take.”
Belle blinked.
Mak’s love was instructions.
Belle nodded.
“Okay,” Belle whispered.
Mak huffed.
“Okay,” Mak muttered.
Belle looked at her father.
Her father stepped closer.
He didn’t hug.
Hugs were still expensive for him.
But he placed his hand briefly on Belle’s shoulder.
A steady pressure.
A grounding.
His voice was low.
“Okay,” he said.
Belle’s eyes burned.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Then her belly tightened again.
Belle inhaled sharply.
Pain rose.
Her breath shook.
Aleem’s hand gripped hers.
“Breathe,” Aleem murmured.
Belle nodded.
She breathed.
Aleem’s phone buzzed.
He ignored it.
Another buzz.
Ivan.
Aleem glanced once.
Parking done. Parents seated. I’ll manage updates.
Aleem’s throat tightened.
He typed two words.
Thank you.
Ivan replied instantly.
Okay.
Aleem almost laughed.
Almost.
Crystal whispered to Ivan,
“Don’t say okay now.”
Ivan stared.
“It’s appropriate,” he whispered back.
Crystal’s eyes filled more.
“Stop,” she mouthed.
Belle’s mother pulled Mak aside.
Belle watched from the wheelchair, breathing through another contraction.
Her mother’s voice was soft.
“I… I don’t know what to do,” Belle’s mother whispered.
Mak’s face tightened.
Then Mak did something unexpected.
She reached into her bag.
She pulled out a packet of biscuits.
She thrust it at Belle’s mother.
“You eat,” Mak ordered. “If you faint, you help nobody.”
Belle’s mother blinked.
Biscuits.
Not a hug.
Not an apology.
An act.
Belle’s mother’s eyes filled.
“Thank you,” her mother whispered.
Mak looked away.
“Okay lah,” Mak muttered. “Eat.”
Belle’s mother nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Mother bridge.
Built from biscuits.
Aleem stepped slightly away to speak to the nurse.
Belle watched his shoulders.
They were too tight.
He was holding his panic inside his spine.
Belle knew his brain.
He was already calculating risks.
What if.
What if.
What if.
Belle’s throat tightened.
She wanted to call him back.
But the pain rose again.
Belle inhaled.
She breathed.
And when she exhaled, she saw her father approach Aleem.
Again.
Man-to-man.
Not a performance.
Just a father who understood fear.
Belle couldn’t hear everything.
But she saw the shape of it.
Her father stood close.
He said something low.
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
Then Aleem inhaled.
A long breath.
His shoulders dropped slightly.
Just a fraction.
Belle’s father nodded once.
Aleem nodded back.
Okay.
Belle’s throat tightened.
It was happening again.
Her father wasn’t only releasing anymore.
He was holding Aleem steady too.
The doors opened.
A nurse gestured.
“Belle?”
Belle’s stomach dropped.
This was the threshold.
The moment the corridor became a different world.
Belle looked at her mother.
Her mother’s lips trembled.
Belle looked at Mak.
Mak’s eyes were wet.
Belle looked at her father.
His face was calm.
But his gaze was fierce.
Belle looked at Ivan.
Ivan nodded once.
Crystal cried silently.
Belle swallowed.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Aleem’s hand squeezed hers.
“Okay,” Aleem replied.
Then the wheelchair moved.
The doors began to close.
Belle’s mother took a step forward instinctively.
Mak caught her arm gently.
Not hostile.
Not controlling.
Just anchoring her.
“We wait,” Mak muttered.
Belle’s mother swallowed.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Belle’s father’s voice cut through softly.
“Okay,” he said.
The doors closed.
Inside, the world was quieter.
Only nurses.
Only instructions.
Only the sound of Belle’s breathing.
Aleem walked beside her.
His face was controlled.
But his eyes were wet.
Belle squeezed his hand.
“Don’t disappear,” Belle whispered.
Aleem’s throat moved.
“I won’t,” he whispered.
Belle’s eyes burned.
“Okay?” Belle asked.
Aleem nodded.
“Okay,” he replied.
Outside, in the corridor, time slowed.
Both families sat in the same row of bolted chairs.
Not forced closeness.
Not awkward distance.
Just… integrated.
Belle’s mother sat with her hands clasped.
Mak sat with her arms folded, eyes wet.
Ayah sat quietly between them, gaze lowered, whispering something under his breath.
Dua.
Belle’s father sat slightly apart.
His hand rested on Belle’s mother’s shoulder.
A silent anchor.
ABIX hovered near.
Crystal paced.
Ivan typed messages.
Updates.
Calls.
Logistics.
Holding the outer world away.
Belle’s mother sniffed.
Mak offered a tissue without looking.
Belle’s mother took it.
No words.
Just acts.
Crystal whispered,
“Okay, okay, okay,” like a chant.
Ivan looked up.
“Stop,” he murmured.
Crystal glared.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m scared.”
Ivan’s gaze softened.
“I know,” he said.
Then he added,
“Okay.”
Crystal’s face crumpled.
She laughed and cried at the same time.
“Stop saying okay,” she sobbed.
Ivan nodded once.
“Okay,” he repeated anyway.
The corridor held them.
No speeches.
No dramatic declarations.
Just waiting.
Just prayers.
Just the soft truth that love could not do anything here except stay.
Showing up while hurting.
Holding fear without turning it into violence.
Two doors.
One closing.
One waiting to open.
And in between them,
family.
Properly.
Okay.