The monitors shrieked in the vast, sterile room. I was awake, the cold IV line a fixture in the back of my hand.

“Madam, may I get you anything to drink? Mr. Jules has contacted Mr. Rafayel, and he will be here momentarily. I am quite certain,” Mary quickly whispered, gripping my hand.

I shook my head weakly, my throat too dry and tight for anything. My other hand remained splayed protectively over my stomach.

“The... baby?” I managed to croak out, my voice barely a whisper, all my fear concentrated in those two words.

Mary's grip on my hand tightened, her eyes soft with reassurance now. “The doctors are...