The pain did not announce itself.
It crept in quietly, like everything else had lately.
Lila noticed it first as pressure—low, insistent, different from the weight she had grown used to. Not sharp. Not unbearable. Just… wrong. A tightening that did not release when she shifted positions, a heaviness that felt like her body pulling inward instead of forward.
She was standing in the nursery, fingers resting on the edge of the cradle, when warmth spread suddenly between her legs.
For half a heartbeat, she didn’t understand.
Then she looked down.
Red.
Too much red.
Her breath left her in a single, silent rush.
“No,” she whispered.
The baby moved—hard, frantic.
Fear slammed into her chest so fast it stole her voice.
“Caleb,” she tried to call, but the word barely formed.
Her knees
