Vincent came through the door like a storm.
I heard his keys hit the entry table. His coat sliding off. His breath sharp and fast like he'd been running.
I was still standing over Paige. She was sprawled on the floor at my feet, one hand clutching her stomach, the other reaching toward the door. Her mouth was open. Her eyes were wide and wet.
"Vincent!" she screamed. "Vincent, help—"
He didn't stop to look. He didn't ask what happened. His eyes went to her on the ground and me standing above her and something in his face just—shut off.
He moved.
Fast.
His hands slammed into my shoulders. Both of them. Full force. I felt my feet leave the floor. The room blurred. My back hit the kitchen island—the corner, the sharp granite edge—and pain exploded white and hot up my spine.
I went down hard.
The tile was cold against my cheek. My ears were ringing. I tried to breathe but my lungs wouldn't fill.
I heard Vincent drop to his knees. Not near me. Near her.
"Are you okay?" His voice cracked. Desperate. "Did she hurt you? Is the baby—"
"I'm fine." Paige's voice came out in gasps. Breathless. Perfectly timed. "I'm fine. She just—she came at me—"
I pressed my palms flat against the floor. Tried to push myself up. My hands slipped.
There was something wet beneath me.
I looked down.
Red.
Dark red spreading across the white tile in a slow, terrible bloom.
My hands were shaking. I pressed them against my stomach. The fabric of my shirt was soaked. Warm. Wrong.
"Vincent."
My voice sounded far away. Like it belonged to someone else.
He didn't turn.
He was still crouched over Paige, his hand on her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. She was crying. He was whispering something I couldn't hear.
"Vincent," I said again. Louder this time. The pain was climbing now. Sharp. Twisting. My vision blurred at the edges. "Vincent, I'm bleeding."
He froze.
Slowly—so slowly—he turned his head.
His eyes found the floor first. The blood pooling beneath me. Then my hands pressed against my stomach. Then my face.
All the color drained out of him.
"Seraphina—"
I looked at him. I felt very calm. Very far away. Like I was watching this happen to someone else.
"You just killed your own child," I whispered.
His face crumpled.
And then the world went dark.
---
I woke to white ceiling tiles and the steady beep of machines.
My body felt hollow. Scooped out. Empty in a way that had nothing to do with hunger.
A nurse moved into my line of sight. Not Margaret this time. Someone younger. She smiled down at me with practiced sympathy.
"You're awake," she said softly. "You're at Harborview Medical Center. You're stable."
I tried to speak. My throat was dry. She held a cup of water to my lips. I drank.
"The baby," I said.
Her smile faded. She set the cup down. She didn't need to say it.
I closed my eyes.
"There's someone outside," the nurse said quietly. "He's been here since they brought you in. He's very upset. Do you want—"
"No."
My voice was flat. Final.
She nodded. She left.
I turned my face toward the window. The sky outside was gray. It might have been morning. It might have been afternoon. I didn't care.
I heard voices in the hallway. Vincent's voice. Loud. Cracking.
"I need to see her—"
"Sir, she doesn't want visitors right now."
"You don't understand—" His voice broke. "I didn't know. I didn't know she was—"
Footsteps. Closer. I heard him just outside the door.
"She had an appointment," a woman's voice said. Clinical. Neutral. Margaret. "For next week. A termination. But the blunt force trauma caused the miscarriage before she could—"
Silence.
Then a sound I'd never heard Vincent make before. A gasping, choking sob.
"She was going to—" His voice splintered. "She was pregnant and I—"
A thud. Like something heavy hitting the wall.
"Sir, you need to calm down—"
"I killed my own—" He couldn't finish. The words dissolved into ragged, animal sounds. Hyperventilating. Clawing.
I stared at the ceiling.
I felt nothing.
The machines beeped. The voices faded. Somewhere down the hall a baby cried.
I closed my eyes and waited for morning.
