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.