In the way his mother, Patricia Whitmore, had started calling Hannah “fragile” in front of guests.
In the way Caleb had stopped touching her belly after the ultrasound showed two heartbeats.
Not because he was afraid.
Because twins complicated the plan.
Hannah’s thumb shook as she unlocked the phone.
Caleb stepped closer.
“Hannah, don’t make a scene.”
She almost smiled.
A scene.
That was what he called pain when it inconvenienced him.
That was what he called truth when it had witnesses.
That was what he called anything he could not control.
Dr. Mercer turned to Denise. “Prep OR Two. Call anesthesia again. I’m escalating.”
Caleb snapped his head toward her. “I didn’t consent.”
Dr. Mercer’s voice dropped.
“And I’m telling you that your wife is conscious, competent, and able to consent for herself.”
Caleb froze.
For the first time that morning, his confidence cracked.
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