Kat:
The drive to the hospital was a quiet one.
Not tense. Not heavy. Just… quiet. That kind of silence that feels thick, like the world is holding its breath, waiting for something you’re not ready for.
Blaze drove with one hand on the wheel, the other on my thigh. His thumb moved in slow circles against the denim of my jeans, grounding me. His face was carved from stone—sharp jaw locked, brows low. But I knew him too well to be fooled. Beneath that iron exterior, the man I loved was a live wire of emotion.
I fiddled with the boutique bag in my lap. It was white with pale pink hearts stamped along the edges. Inside was a soft crocheted onesie, pale pink with tiny pearl buttons. A matching set of ruffled socks. Two hair bows—one cream, one blush, both adorned with delicate faux pearls.
