His shoes were dry.
Hannah’s slippers were soaked with blood.
“How dangerous?” Caleb asked.
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Dr. Mercer’s jaw tightened.
“Dangerous enough that every minute matters.”
“To her?” Caleb said.
The nurse’s eyes snapped up.
Dr. Mercer did not blink. “To Hannah and both babies.”
Caleb looked down at his wife.
Hannah’s face was pale, but her eyes were open.
She did not scream.
She did not beg.
She did not grab his sleeve and plead for love from a man who had spent the last six months removing it piece by piece.
She only watched him with a calm so sharp it made him look away first.
Her hand rested on the curve of her belly.
Her fingers were trembling.
But her voice was not.
“Sign it, Caleb.”
He gave a quiet laugh, the kind of laugh people use when they want a room to believe they are reasonable.
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