"Your child may not be the firstborn, but I won't play favorites. I promise—whatever Fay's child gets, yours will get too."

"I've told you. You're the one I love most. This life, the next—you'll always be Mrs. Gilbert."

I bit clean through my lip. My smile bled.

Elijah, your love is crushing me. I don't want it anymore.

I don't want you anymore, either.

Before I could say a word, he scooped me up.

He carried me all the way back to the ward, watched the doctor inject the labor suppressants with his own eyes, and only then left, satisfied.

I lay on that hospital bed through the night. Every time I blacked out, the pain tore me back—raw, alive, no mercy in it. I couldn't die. I couldn't make it stop.

The nurse who came to change my medication looked at me with open disgust, deliberately pinching my leg hard enough to bruise.

Their whispered gossip cut deeper than anything.

"That's what a mistress deserves. Writhing in pain and nobody gives a damn. Should just die already."

"Brought it on herself, didn't she? The lawful wife's in there having the baby, and this one drags herself over to fight for scraps. Like spreading your legs is enough to make a man love you."

"Oh, but the real wife's smart. Fully dilated, epidural and everything—and she just won't push. Long as she keeps that baby in, the little homewrecker can scream herself to death and still won't set foot in that delivery room. Love to see it."

I tried to smile. It came out bitter.

Love to see it? But I'm the one who's actually Elijah's wife.

I couldn't understand it. The man who once would have thrown away his own life for me was now doing this to me.

Another contraction tore through me.

Before I could even cry out, the door swung open.

Fay walked in, supported on someone's arm, a newborn cradled against her chest.

I hadn't expected who came with her. My mother, whom I hadn't seen in years.

Fay's eyes were full of triumph as she looked at me.

"I know how hard this must be for you, so I brought your little nephew over specially—come say hello!"

"Seven pounds six ounces. Healthy as anything, both of us. Elijah cried when he held him—actually cried."

I stared at her, barely holding my rage in check.

"He's not my nephew. Take your bastard and get out."

Fay's lips curled into a cold smile, and she slapped me across the face, hard.

"What right do you have to tell me to get out?"

"Last night, while you were screaming your throat raw, Elijah was right next door with me. He could hear every sound you made. He didn't even flinch—just kept stroking my hair and telling me everything was fine."

"So what if you're Mrs. Gilbert? The one who isn't loved is the real mistress. That thing in your belly is the real bastard."

Her hand split the skin at the corner of my eye, and blood ran warm into my tears.

But Fay wasn't done.

She leaned in close, making no effort to hide the malice in her eyes.

"You're really hard to kill, aren't you? A whole night and still kicking. How about I help you along, send you and your little bastard off together?"

She snatched the thermos from the floor and swung it straight at my stomach.

I shoved her away with everything I had and stumbled toward the door.

The moment I made it out of the room, I crashed into a familiar chest.

When I saw Elijah's face, the concern written across it, I seized his sleeve and held on with both hands. My voice shook.

"Elijah, save me. Fay's lost her mind. She's trying to kill our baby!"

His expression shifted. He was about to speak when a shrill, piercing cry erupted from inside the ward.

He shoved me aside, kicked the door open, and rushed in.

A hand twisted into my hair and dragged me back inside.

I couldn't stop shaking.

Fay was on her knees in the middle of the room, cradling her baby. The infant was drenched in blood.

"Elijah, I just wanted her to share in the good luck—so she'd have an easier delivery! That's the only reason I brought the baby to see her!"

"But she called my baby a bastard and tried to smash him on the floor!"

Elijah's eyes cut through me, ice-cold.

"Eleanor, Fay just gave birth and dragged herself here to see you—and you go after her child? Are you out of your mind?"

"I was worried about you. I was ready to get you into that delivery room. Now? Don't bother."

"You're staying in this room until Fay decides she can stand the sight of you again."

Pain ripped through my belly like something was being ground apart inside me, and my whole body shook with it.

I drove my nails through my own palms just to keep from passing out.

"I didn't do it. She's framing me. She's the one who tried to kill my baby!"

Elijah's rage hit its peak. He kicked me, and I crashed to the floor.

"You're still lying?"

"You think Fay would hurt her own baby just to pin something on you?"

He wouldn't believe me. All I could see in his eyes was cruelty.

I couldn't stop myself from looking up, turning to my mother for help.

"Mom, you were in the room the whole time. You saw everything, didn't you?"

"I didn't drop the baby. It was Fay, she—"

Sophie cut me off, her voice ice-cold.

"Eleanor, what did I teach you growing up? You do something wrong, you own it."

"Fay came here with nothing but good intentions, and you repay her by hurting a child? What is wrong with you?"

My heart dropped straight through the floor.

My mother had always played favorites, but I never imagined she could be this heartless toward me.

Before I could say another word, a rush of warmth flooded between my legs.

Blood that had already stopped now surged out again, pooling fast, spreading red across the floor.

The cold indifference in Elijah's eyes shattered into panic.

He moved instinctively toward the nurse call button, but Fay caught his arm.

"Elijah, my mom has a bit of medical training. Why not let her take a look—see if Eleanor's really about to have this baby?"

Before I could refuse, my mother's cold hand pushed inside me.

After a rough, careless examination, she looked down at me with flat indifference.

"Eleanor, I know you hate Fay, but you don't get to fake an emergency just to steal his attention."

"You're not even dilated. You couldn't push that baby out if you wanted to."

I stared up at her, barely able to breathe, my voice a threadbare whisper.

"Why? Why would you do this to me?"

"I'm your daughter too. This child I'm carrying—your own grandchild."

She turned her face away. She couldn't look at me.

I reached out, trembling, and caught the hem of Elijah's shirt.

"I can't hold on much longer. Please. Call a doctor."

Something flickered in his eyes, and he was about to speak when Fay screamed behind him.

"Elijah, the baby stopped moving! Something's wrong!"

The hand that had been reaching for me pulled away. Elijah scooped Fay into his arms and ran out of the room without looking back.

I crawled toward the door on hands and knees, dragging a smear of blood behind me, and the edges of the world went black.

The last thing I saw was Elijah's back, already gone.

I lowered my eyes. Smiled. Tasted blood on my lips.

Elijah Gilbert—if you say I owe Fay Fox, then fine. Two lives ought to cover it.

……

Elijah carried the baby and sprinted all the way to the ER.

When the doctors confirmed it was only a surface wound, he finally let out a breath.

But the memory of my eyes—desperate, dying—hit him before he could push it away, and the panic flooded back.

He forced a smile and pushed Fay's hand off him.

"The baby's fine. I need to get back to Eleanor—that's my flesh and blood she's carrying."

He shoved past Fay's shrieking and ran for my room, frantic.

But the second he threw the door open, Elijah stopped dead—and his legs nearly gave out beneath him.

I lay still in a spreading pool of blood. Silent. Gone.

Between my legs, a pair of tiny pale hands jutted out, streaked with blood.