Yasmin found out about Ezra on a Tuesday.
I didn't know how. Maybe one of the housekeepers mentioned seeing me leave the penthouse with a folder. Maybe Victoria had someone watching me. Maybe Dane said something without meaning to.
She didn't confront me. That wasn't her style.
She just started asking questions. Casual. Light.
"How are you feeling, Ashlyn?"
"Are you getting out much? Fresh air is so important."
"Dane mentioned you had a doctor's appointment. I hope everything's okay."
I answered in single words. Yes. No. Fine.
She smiled every time. That soft, practiced smile that never reached her eyes.
On Thursday morning, she was in the kitchen when I came out of the guest room. She was making tea. The kettle whistled.
"Big day today?" she asked.
I stopped. "What?"
"You're dressed." She gestured at my jeans and sweater. "You haven't left the apartment in weeks."
"I have an errand," I said.
She tilted her head. "Need company? I'm free all morning."
"No."
Her smile didn't waver. "Well, be careful. The city can be overwhelming."
I left without answering.
---
Miles had called the night before. Ezra was arriving at JFK at eleven a.m. He had the finalized documents. Everything we needed.
"I'll meet you at the terminal," I'd said.
"Are you sure you should be traveling?" Miles had asked. "I can bring them to you."
"I need to see him."
A pause. "Understood."
The cab ride took forty minutes. Traffic was heavy. I sat in the back seat with my hands pressed to my stomach. The baby was moving more now. Constant small flutters. Like something trying to get out.
I felt nothing.
JFK was chaos. Travelers everywhere. Announcements echoing off the high ceilings. I checked the arrivals board. Ezra's flight had landed early. I headed toward the international terminal.
The escalator was long. Metal steps that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. I stepped on. Held the rail. Felt the baby kick.
Someone bumped me from behind.
Hard.
I stumbled forward. My hand slipped off the rail. I tried to catch myself but my center of gravity was all wrong. Too much weight in front. I pitched forward.
The steps came up fast. Metal edges. Sharp corners.
I hit shoulder-first. Pain exploded through my arm. I rolled. Hit again. My head cracked against something. The world tilted.
I was falling.
Down.
Down.
Down.
I hit the bottom and everything stopped.
The floor was cold. Smooth tile. I was lying on my side. Something warm was spreading beneath me. Wet. Too much of it.
I tried to move. Couldn't.
Someone screamed.
Footsteps. Running. Voices.
"Oh my God—"
"Someone call 911—"
"Is she breathing?"
I turned my head. Saw the blood. Dark red. Pooling. Spreading.
I pressed my hand to my stomach. Felt nothing move.
Panic hit then. Sharp. Cold.
*No. No no no.*
I tried to sit up. A hand on my shoulder pushed me gently back down.
"Don't move. Help is coming."
I looked up. A security guard. Young. Scared.
"My baby," I whispered.
His face went pale.
More footsteps. Paramedics. They knelt beside me. Asked questions I couldn't answer. How far along. Any pain. Can you feel this.
I couldn't feel anything except the blood. So much blood.
They lifted me onto a stretcher. The ceiling lights blurred past. Someone was holding my hand. I didn't know who.
"We need to get her to a hospital now," one of the paramedics said. His voice was tight. Urgent.
I closed my eyes.
Somewhere above me, I heard a phone ringing. Someone answering.
"We have a medical emergency. Pregnant woman. Approximately twenty-four weeks. Significant hemorrhaging."
Twenty-four weeks.
The baby kicked once. Weak. Faint.
Then nothing.
---
I opened my eyes in the ambulance. The siren was screaming. Everything was too bright. Too loud.
A paramedic leaned over me. "Stay with me, Ashlyn. We're almost there."
I tried to speak. My mouth was dry.
"Ezra," I managed.
"Who?"
"Ezra Stephens. He's at the airport. Terminal four."
The paramedic looked at someone I couldn't see. "Can we contact him?"
"I'll try."
The baby kicked again. Barely there.
I pressed my hand to my stomach and felt the wetness soaking through my jeans. Warm. Sticky.
"Please," I whispered. "Please."
The paramedic squeezed my hand. "We're doing everything we can."
The ambulance lurched around a corner. Pain shot through my abdomen. I gasped.
"Contractions," someone said. "She's going into labor."
No. Too early. Too soon.
The siren screamed louder.
I closed my eyes and counted.
Twelve.
Eight.
Nothing at all.
