The morning sun had just begun to peak over Midtown, Mario had woken to the sound of soft, ragged gasps coming from the master bathroom of his loft. He had found Maya curled on the cold tile floor, her caramel skin pale, clammy, and slick with cold sweat. A sudden, violent wave of nausea had seized her, followed by sharp, localized lower-abdominal pains that left her shivering, weak, and barely able to draw a full breath.
He had tried to lift her to the bed, but every small movement made her wince in agony. When she tried to stand, her knees had buckled entirely, her dark brown eyes dull, glassy, and shadowed with raw physical distress.
"You need to go to Emory, Mario..." she had rasped out, her trembling hand clutching his forearm as he held a damp cloth to her forehead. "It's... it's P
