For the first time, Adrian almost smiled.
Almost.
Then the door opened again, and a doctor stepped in. She was in her early forties, with dark hair pulled back and a calm gaze that made the room feel less fragile.
“I’m Dr. Maren Walsh,” she said. “I’m overseeing your care tonight. Mrs. Hale, you’ve been through serious trauma. We’ve managed to avoid emergency delivery for now, but we need to be honest. You and the baby remain at risk. Our priority is keeping you stable as long as we safely can.”
“How long?” I asked.
“Every hour helps. Every day would be better.”
I closed my eyes.
Every day meant Victor remained free.
Every day meant pretending to be dead.
Every day meant lying still while my whole life burned down without me.
Dr. Walsh seemed to understand the battle on my face. “Survival first,” she said gently. “Everything else after.”
