When she spoke again, her tone had changed.
Colder.
“Something you didn’t need to see.”
I don’t remember hanging up.
I just remember staring at the wall, my heart pounding harder than it had in years.
Something you didn’t need to see.
That wasn’t denial.
That was confirmation.
“Michael Carter?”
I turned.
A doctor stood in front of me, mask pulled down, eyes tired.
“I’m Dr. Alvarez,” she said. “Your wife is in surgery. We had to move quickly. There was significant bleeding.”
“Is she—” My voice cracked. “Is she okay?”
“We’re doing everything we can.”
“And the baby?”
A beat.
Then: “We’re working on that too.”
Time stretched.
Minutes felt like hours.
I sat. I stood. I paced.
And then my phone buzzed again.
Not my mother this time.
Dr. Melissa Crane.
I answered immediately.
“This is Michael Carter.”
“Michael,” a calm but urgent voice said. “I’ve been trying to reach Sarah. Is she with you?”
