“You nearly died too.”
Hannah barely heard her.
“Can I see them?”
“Soon.”
“Please.”
“As soon as the doctor clears you.”
Hannah closed her eyes.
“Which doctor?”
The nurse hesitated.
That hesitation changed everything.
Hannah opened her eyes again.
“Which doctor?”
“Dr. Caldwell.”
The blood seemed to leave her face.
“No.”
“He performed the emergency cesarean.”
“No.”
“Hannah—”
“No.”
Her breathing quickened.
The monitor protested.
The nurse reached for her shoulder, but Hannah pulled away.
“Ethan Caldwell?”
“Yes.”
Hannah stared toward the door.
Five years of running had failed in one night.
Of all hospitals.
Of all surgeons.
Of all impossible cruelties.
Ethan had saved her.
She almost laughed.
Instead, she whispered, “Does he know?”
“Know what?”
Hannah turned sharply toward the nurse.
But the woman’s expression was innocent.
She knew nothing.
“Nothing,” Hannah said.
Then she closed her eyes and wished darkness would take her again.
It didn’t.
