Michael
“It could be hours–or a day,” Alma says quietly as she arranges her tonics on a table just outside the bedroom where Faye’s finally getting some rest.
“It’s been hours already,” I tell her, motioning toward the window in my suite in the castle where moonlight drifts through the panes, casting the hallway in silver starlight.
“I agree with the physician that this won’t be an easy labor for her. She’s tired, Michael. She’s a small woman with narrow hips, and these babies are large. Full term, even coming a few weeks early. We will need to decide whether a… surgery is more appropriate for her, given the circumstances.”
“That’s not what she wants,” I assert, my throat tightening.
“I understand, but she’s already so tired. If she sleeps through the night, she’ll have the strengt
