The Bane of a Sinner: Soulless Sinners MC (Soulless Sinners M.C. Book 6) by Rebecca Joyce

Author:Rebecca Joyce [Joyce, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rebecca Joyce
Published: 2025-10-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

Diana

April 4, 2004, Las Vegas Methodist Hospital...

As I lay in the hospital bed, my body racked with the pain of contractions, I felt a warmth beside me—the gentle presence of the nurse. “Breathe, honey,” she murmured, her voice a soothing balm. I focused on my breath, trying to find solace in the rhythm of inhalation and exhalation. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the ache in my heart. I knew that with each contraction, I was bringing a new life into the world—a life that would forever remind me of love and loss. I tried to be strong, to be the woman he needed me to be, but right now all I wanted to do was crumble and cry. I didn’t want to do this without him.

The nurse’s words were like a lifeline, guiding me through the storm of emotions. I clung to her encouragement, grateful for the comfort she offered. Yet, despite her efforts, the pain persisted. It was a physical manifestation of the heartbreak I felt, a constant reminder of the man who should have been by my side. As the contractions intensified, so did my grief. With each breath, I felt the weight of my solitude.

The room echoed with my labored breathing and the beeping of medical equipment. I closed my eyes, willing the pain to subside, but my heart continued to mourn. In that moment, I realized that the joy of becoming a mother would always be tinged with sadness. My child would never know their father, and I would forever carry the burden of explaining his absence.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

None of it was. He should be here with me, beside me, holding my hand. Instead, I was alone trying to bring our child into the world by myself.

The hours stretched on, measured in the relentless rise and fall of pain, the rhythmic beeping of monitors, and the muted voices of nurses drifting in and out of the room. There was no sign of dawn through the slats of the Venetian blinds, only the harsh fluorescence above and the sterile scent of antiseptic. Each contraction brought me closer to the moment I both dreaded and longed for—the first cry, the proof that life had begun in spite of so much darkness.

Between waves of agony, I clung to memories of him: the way his hands steadied mine, the rough timbre of his voice when he whispered that everything would be all right. I craved his presence—needed his strength as much as I needed air. But all I had were silent promises and the hope that he was out there somewhere, fighting for us.

A nurse squeezed my hand, her smile gentle but tired. “You’re doing so well, honey. You’re almost there.” I nodded, forcing a breath, determined to see it through. This child—our child—deserved a world better than secrets and shadows. With every ounce of will, I pushed aside the fear, the loneliness, and focused on the spark of life within me when the door opened and in walked two doctors.

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