Kane's POV
‘Mrs Grimfield?’ A curt voice calls out.
Both Brandy and I look up, simultaneously, to find a woman in her thirties standing by the heavy clinic door, looking at us expectantly.
‘Um . . yes, that’s me,’ my wife replies, her hand coming up in a small, slightly awkward wave.
We stand up together, the plastic of my chair creaking with relief as I rise to my full height. As we walk toward the nurse, her gaze flits from Brandy to me, lighting with a sudden flash of recognition. She looks back down at the form in her hand again, the realisation clearly dawning on her as she connects the name to the face.
‘Is there a problem?’ I ask. My tone is a low rumble, dropping just enough to let her know that there better not be. This isn’t about me or my job; it’s about my firebug and our
