Narrator’s Point of View

The morning broke softer than usual, a fragile kind of light filtering through the curtains of the guest room. Stephanie pressed a hand against her abdomen, her breath uneven. The strange flutter she’d been feeling for days was no longer subtle—it was insistent, alive.

Charlie noticed the shift in her expression as he laced his boots near the window.

“You’re pale again,” he said, his voice low but concerned. “We’re going to the hospital. Today.”

She ...