“We need you to step into the hallway while the hospital updates your wife’s consent documentation.”
Grant frowned.
“I’m her husband.”
“I understand.”
“I should be here.”
“It’ll only take a moment.”
Grant looked at me.
For the first time, I saw suspicion behind his eyes.
My heart hammered.
But I forced myself to shrug.
“Go. I’m not going anywhere.”
The irony nearly made me choke.
He followed the man into the hallway.
Dana closed the door.
Then locked it.
The moment the latch clicked, every bit of strength left my body.
Dana rushed to the bed.
“You’re safe.”
I started crying.
Not quietly.
Not gracefully.
The kind of crying that happens when terror has been held inside too long.
“My baby?”
“Your baby is safe.”
“Dr. Ross?”
“He will not be treating you.”
“Grant?”
“The detective is separating him from the maternity floor.”
I covered my face.
Then the door opened again.
Rachel entered first.
Miles came behind her.
My six-foot-three brother made it halfway across the room before he started crying.
He wrapped his arms around me.
“You should have called me.”
“And said what? Come fight my husband in a maternity ward?”
“Yes.”
Rachel shut the door.
“That is exactly why she called me instead.”
Miles glared at her.
“You threatened to have security arrest me.”
“I explained boundaries.”
“You said, ‘If you drive to the hospital before I tell you to, I will personally make sure you spend the night in a holding cell.’”
Rachel looked at me.
“He responds well to clarity.”
I laughed through my tears.
For thirty seconds, I felt human again.
Then Rachel placed a folder on my blanket.
And her expression changed.
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