The hospital ceiling tiles blurred above me as another wave of pain rolled through my abdomen. "Mrs. Hale, we need to make a decision soon," Dr. Morrison said gently. "The internal bleeding is getting worse." I stared at the consent form in my trembling hands. The words swam before my eyes: *emergency termination of pregnancy due to severe maternal hemorrhaging.* Ten weeks. I'd been carrying our baby for ten weeks, and Victor didn't even know. I'd planned to tell him tonight over dinner. I'd bought his favorite wine. Made reservations at the Italian place where he proposed. Instead, I was here. Alone. Bleeding out. "I need to call my husband," I whispered. Dr. Morrison nodded and stepped out, pulling the curtain closed behind her. My fingers shook as I dialed Victor's number. It rang four times before he answered. "What is it, Elena? I'm busy," Victor said, his voice clipped and impatient. "I'm at St. Catherine's Hospital," I said, my voice breaking. "I need you to come. Please. I need you to sign—" "Can't this wait?" Victor interrupted. "I'm in the middle of something important." Important. The word hit me like a slap. "Victor, I'm hemorrhaging. I'm pregnant, and I'm losing the baby. I need you here. Now." Silence stretched between us. "You're probably overreacting," Victor said finally. "You know how you get dramatic about medical stuff. Just sign whatever they need you to sign. I'll check on you later." "Victor—" "Elena, I really can't do this right now. Handle it yourself. You're a grown woman." The line went dead. I stared at my phone, unable to process what had just happened. My husband—the man who'd promised to love me in sickness and in health—had just hung up on me while I was losing our baby. The curtain rustled, and a nurse poked her head in. "Mrs. Hale? We need that consent form. Your blood pressure is dropping." I signed it with numb fingers. My name looked foreign on the page. Like it belonged to someone else. Someone whose husband actually gave a damn. "Is there anyone else we can call?" the nurse asked gently. "A family member? A friend?" I shook my head. Victor's family had never accepted me. My own parents had passed years ago. I had work friends, but no one close enough for this. "No," I whispered. "There's no one." The nurse squeezed my hand. "We'll take good care of you." They wheeled me toward the surgical wing. The fluorescent lights passed overhead in rhythmic intervals. I counted them, trying not to think about what was happening. Trying not to think about Victor's voice, so cold and dismissive. *You're probably overreacting.* As we turned a corner, I heard it. Laughter. Celebration. The sound of champagne bottles popping. "Congratulations!" someone shouted. "He's beautiful!" My gurney slowed as we passed a private recovery room. The door was open. And there, standing beside a hospital bed, holding a newborn baby, was my husband. Victor's face was transformed. Soft. Tender. Full of wonder. He gazed down at the infant in his arms like it was the most precious thing in the world. "He has Michael's eyes," Victor said softly. Marissa lay in the bed, glowing despite her exhaustion. Victor's late brother's widow. The woman who'd occupied the center of Victor's world since Michael died three years ago. "Thank you for being here," Marissa whispered, reaching up to touch Victor's arm. "I couldn't have done this without you." "I wouldn't have missed it for anything," Victor said, his voice thick with emotion. *For anything.* The words echoed in my head as my gurney continued down the hallway. He wouldn't have missed Marissa's baby's birth for anything. But he couldn't be bothered to come while I lost ours. "Ma'am, we need you to count backward from ten," the anesthesiologist said as we entered the operating room. I counted. But all I could see was Victor's face, lit up with joy for someone else's child. All I could hear was the click of the phone as he hung up on me. And all I could feel was the final, devastating crack as my heart shattered completely.