Winslow tried to rush forward, but Beasley stepped in his path and stopped him cold. His voice cut through the room like a blade. "Keep it playing."
The assistant stepped back immediately.
The screen flickered again, cutting straight into a brightly lit operating room. The camera focused on the ultrasound monitor where the tiny embryo was being scraped away, piece by piece, until nothing remained but a dark, empty space.
The final frame froze on Eleanor's tear-streaked face, raw grief carved into every line.
A single sheet of paper slipped from the divorce documents still clutched in Winslow's hand. He bent down, picked it up, and stared at the words "Surgical Abortion Report." He read them over and over, ten times, twenty, as if the letters might change if he looked long enough.
When
