ELENA

“Caleb,” I whispered fiercely, my voice cracking with an urgency born of fear for the baby, fear for myself. “Don’t you dare. You fight it. You promised.”

Julian worked for what felt like an eternity, adjusting the IV drip, checking the monitor. During the most critical seconds, his head was bent over Caleb’s chest, checking for a change in rhythm. His elbow pressed against my shoulder, his proximity suffocating in the tense atmosphere. We were fused by the crisis, two ...