Leah crashed in the guest room for the next few days, then made a beeline for the atelier every morning.

Maestro Vezzaro didn't mess around when it came to talent. He wanted her latest sculpture on his desk, no excuses. Time? Ticking. Pressure? Through the roof.

But something was off. She'd been dragging—like, eyes heavy, arms dead weight. Once, she literally passed out mid-sculpt. Not great.

A chill crawled up her spine.

Outside the hospital, Leah stared at the paper. The numbers were a joke. Her legs gave out, and she dropped into a chair.

No freaking way.

Back when she and Ian first got married, having a baby was the dream. They'd tried everything. Nothing worked.

Eventually, Ian told her to stop stressing and just let it happen naturally.

She'd finally made peace with never. But now...

Her hand drifted to her stomach. Eyes red, heart pounding.

'Really, baby? Now?'

Her phone buzzed.

"Leah! Come quick! We've got good news!"

***

When Leah pulled up to Ian's parents' house and stepped out of the car, she barely had time to speak before getting yanked inside.

Everyone looked like they'd just won the lottery.

"Leah! Cecilia's pregnant!"

Her head snapped toward the couch. Excuse me—what?

Cecilia actually blushed. "Jacquelin, don't." All fake modesty. "It's only been a few days. I haven't even seen a doctor yet."

Jacquelin—Ian's mom—waved it off. "Oh, please. I've had two kids. I know the signs."

Cecilia dipped her head, all shy smiles, one hand resting gently on her stomach.

"Leah," Jacquelin said, beaming, "now that Cecilia's expecting, you'll have to take good care of her. After all, this is also..."

Yeah. No need to finish that sentence. This wasn't just Cecilia's baby—it was Ian's too.

Ian jumped in, quick. "Mom, you know Leah. Of course she'll take care of Cecilia."

"Of course!"

The whole room buzzed with excitement. No one even looked her way.

Leah knew she couldn't dip just yet, so she slipped upstairs.

She crashed for maybe twenty minutes before nausea slammed her. She barely made it to the bathroom.

"Leah, are you okay?"

She spun. Cecilia stood in the doorway—zero clue how long she'd been watching.

Leah kept it cool. "Nothing."

"Leah, I know you blame me, but I didn't want this either. It was Andrew's parents who pushed for it," she said, dragging a hand over her stomach. "And Ian agreed too."

Leah didn't flinch. Just rinsed, wiped, and brushed past her. "I know."

But as they passed, Cecilia grabbed her wrist. Her face twisted.

"This child is my only one. No one's stealing his spotlight."

Leah blinked. Then spotted the paper in Cecilia's hand.

Her report.

Panic exploded in her chest. She yanked her arm back, instantly covering her stomach.

"What are you trying to do?"

Cecilia's eyes locked on her hands. Her whole expression shifted—sharp, dangerous.

"You shouldn't be pregnant. Not now. I'm not letting anyone steal the love meant for Ian's and my baby."

Leah's pulse spiked. She turned and bolted.

"Ian! Ian!"

Cecilia came after her. "Shut up! I told them I was craving dried fruit, so they all ran off to get it. Right now, I'm the star. Me!"

Leah spun, breath ragged, keeping her distance. "I'm not fighting you. I'll leave. Keep Ian. Keep the Fillions. I'm done."

Cecilia's smile curled—feral. "You'll leave? That's not enough."

Leah saw Cecilia move and bolted down the stairs.

Then—bam. A hard shove straight to the back.

She flew forward, no control, slamming stair after stair until she crashed at the bottom.

"Leah!"

Ian's voice. Panicked. Too late.

He stood frozen in the doorway, bag of dried fruit hitting the floor as he finally sprinted over.

"Ah—!"

But before he could reach her, Cecilia dropped like a drama queen, grabbing her stomach.

"Ian, it hurts! My stomach—take me to the hospital!"

He froze. Eyes flicked between Leah, bleeding and broken, and Cecilia, flopping around like she was nine months pregnant.

Cecilia wailed again—louder this time.

Ian hesitated maybe a second—then rushed right past Leah, scooping up Cecilia. "Leah, don't move! I'll take Cecilia first—I'll be right back!"

Door slammed.

Blood spread fast.

Panic slammed harder.

"Ian! Ian!" Her voice cracked, raw.

She sobbed, clutching her stomach. 'My baby. My baby.'

Ian paused. Just for a second. Her face—bruised, battered, still smiling after that crash—flashed in his head. She never broke. But this time...

He almost turned.

Then Cecilia whimpered, all breathy: "Ian, it hurts so bad... our baby—please..."

'Can't risk our baby.'

He clutched her tighter and ran.

Leah lay there, soaked in blood, shaking. Every inch screamed. She dragged herself forward, hand trembling as she reached for her phone.

She dialed.

Sirens sliced through the air.

Then—slam. A car swerved in front of the ambulance.

A paramedic yelled, "Car 6547, MOVE!"

Leah's eyes fluttered open.

Ian's car.

He saw the lights, heard the sirens, started to pull over—then Cecilia let out another fake sob.

Jaw clenched, he hit the gas.

Inside the ambulance: "Dr. Palmer, we're losing her! The bleeding won't stop!"

The doctor glanced at the blood-soaked drape. "We're out of time. Emergency surgery, now!"

"But the car's still blocking us—what now?!"

The driver didn't wait. He yanked the wheel, shot through traffic, blew the red.

Leah barely hit the ER doors when Ian burst in with Cecilia in his arms.

Before he could even open his mouth—

"Patient Leah Labelle—severe hemorrhage from miscarriage. Any family here?"

***

Hospital room.

Leah blinked awake, hand flying to her stomach.

Fingers caught hers—tight. "Leah, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I'll make it right—I swear."

Ian.

Pale. Shaking.

But all she saw was him walking away—with Cecilia in his arms.

She yanked her hand back.

She already knew.

The baby—the one she'd just found out about yesterday—was gone.

Tears slipped down, quiet.

Ian's voice cracked. "Leah, we can still have kids."

She looked at him. 'Yeah. Just not with you.' Then asked, "Where's Cecilia?"

He flinched. "She's... resting. It wasn't really her fault. You two just argued. It was an accident.

"She's still pregnant, and we can't risk stressing her. You've... already lost the baby. We can't let her lose hers too."

Her heart caved in. "Ian! That was our child! Our only child!"

They'd wanted that baby more than anything. Barely three months along.

"I know! I know!" He lunged, hugging her. "It's all my fault. Blame me, not her. She didn't mean it—she's just hormonal. Please don't hate her. I'll do anything to fix this. Just—please, forgive her."

She stared at him.

Still defending Cecilia.

More tears came.

She should've seen this coming.

Ian started to speak—but his phone rang.

Cecilia. Soft. Sweet. "Ian, my stomach's acting up again. Where are you?"

Before he could answer, Leah cut him off. "Go."

He looked at her, lost. Like he knew—she was done.

He squeezed her hand before leaving. "Wait for me. I'll be back."

The second he was gone, Leah sat up.

A nurse rushed in, gently easing her back. "You just had a hysterectomy. You can't move yet."

Hysterectomy.

She froze.

No uterus. No more babies. Ever.

The nurse's voice gentled, eyes darting away. "If you'd just gotten here a little earlier..."

'If only I'd gotten there earlier.'

She remembered the doctor shouting the license plate in the ambulance.

Then—tears. Heavy as rain.

Leah bailed from the hospital early that morning, totally ignoring the doctor's orders. Most of her stuff was already packed—just a few last things to grab.

Right as she hit the bottom step, Ian and Cecilia walked in. Ian rushed over.

"Leah! You're not better yet. Why are you here? Come on, I'll drive you back."

He reached for her arm, but she pulled back. "I'm good."

He kept pushing. She didn't budge.

He gave up.

He carried her upstairs, set her down gently, pulled the blanket over her. "Leah, it's all gonna be okay."

She didn't answer. Her phone buzzed.

One glance—Cecilia had sent her a video. Her and Ian. Hooking up in the hospital bathroom.

Ian sat there, waiting for her to say something. Right as he opened his mouth, Leah cut in.

"What's the code to our safe?"

Back when they got married, he'd signed a divorce agreement just to ease her mind, then locked it away. The password was six digits—split between them. A safety thing. Neither could open it alone.

Ian didn't even blink. "Mine's your birthday. No clue what yours is."

"Okay."

At 3 a.m., Leah got up and cracked it open.

Six numbers. Six years. Gone like nothing.

There were two copies of the divorce papers. She signed them both and left them on the dining table.

Then she opened the door, suitcase rolling behind her. Professor Calvo was already parked out front.

He looked past her, toward the house. "Leah, your husband's not seeing you off?"

She slid into the seat, buckled up, and chucked the phone she'd used for six years into the nearest trash bin.

"No need."

From that moment on, she was done needing him.