The hospital corridors were quiet, except for the steady hum of machines and the faint echo of footsteps fading down the hall. James sat beside Tiana’s bed, his elbows on his knees, his eyes fixed on her pale face.
The beeping of the monitor matched the slow rhythm of his breathing.
She was asleep now, her chest rising and falling weakly beneath the white sheets. The doctor’s words still rang in his head, calm but firm.
“Mr. Striker, she’s lucky you brought her in when you did. Another delay, and we might have lost both mother and child. Her condition is critical. She must not be exposed to stress again. No fighting, no shouting, no emotional strain of any kind.”
James had nodded then, his mouth dry. But sitting here now, he felt that same tightness return to his chest.
He stared at
