The granite planter was cold, rough, and unforgiving against my back. I was trapped, pinned down less by the smoke Marco had created and more by the immense, crushing reality of the labor seizing my body. The dark stain on the marble floor confirmed the rupture, and the agony that followed was no longer a wave, but a constant, grinding pressure that stole all rational thought.

I bit down on the fabric of my gown, muffling the animal sounds of my pain, forcing myself to focus on the sound of the ...