Ten minutes later.
The doctor burst out of the ER, coat fluttering behind him. A nurse followed close behind, pushing Lucie’s gurney down the corridor.
“Prep for surgery, now!”
Steven rushed forward, panic twisting his features. “Doctor, what’s happening?”
“Mr. Heath, your wife is having a miscarriage,” the doctor said, voice clipped and urgent. “She’s losing a lot of blood. We need to operate immediately.”
Steven staggered back, the news slamming into him like a freight train. For a moment, his mind went blank as they wheeled Lucie away, her face pale beneath the harsh hospital lights.
He’d been getting birth control injections for years. One shot could offer three months of protection. He was due for another last month, but he’d been swamped and forgotten.
When they got married, he lied. Told her he had low sperm count. So they never used protection. Ever.
“Lucie… How did this happen?” he whispered, guilt gnawing at him.
Half an hour crawled by. Mr. Anderson arrived, face pinched with worry, breathless from hurrying.
“How’s Lucie?” His voice trembled.
“Grandpa… she’s—she’s in surgery.”
“What happened? She was fine yesterday! How could things go so wrong overnight?”
Steven’s face drained of color. His throat worked, but no words came.
If he’d known she was pregnant, he would never have been so rough with her. He would never have risked this.
The glare of the fluorescent lights stabbed at his eyes. He slumped onto a bench, fingernails digging into his knees until his knuckles turned white.
Mr. Anderson grabbed him by the collar, voice shaking. His eyes were red and wild. “Tell me! What did you do to her?!”
“Grandpa, I…” Steven’s voice caught, raw and broken. It felt like shards of glass lodged in his throat.
Mr. Anderson could only mutter desperate prayers under his breath, hands trembling.

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