I walked into the family living room holding an empty canvas tote, intending only to grab my prenatal vitamins and a clean pair of pajamas. I just wanted to sleep in the guest room.
Laughter echoed from the leather sectional. Jace and Owen leaned over a glowing tablet screen, their shoulders pressed against Talia’s. They were scrolling through photos of the chestnut geldings from the stables. The morning’s clinic disaster had not driven them apart. It had forged a tighter circle, one that left no space for me.
I did not ask either of them to come upstairs with me.
"Did you get the security footage?" I asked, stopping at the edge of the woven rug.
Jace locked the tablet screen and tossed it onto the coffee table. "The kitchen camera feed cut out during a system update. There is no video."
He stood up, crossing the distance between us. "But we need to talk about your behavior, Maya. You need to apologize to Talia."
"Apologize for what?" I asked, keeping my grip firm on the canvas straps.
"For being hostile," Jace said, his voice dropping into a stern reprimand. "You spent the entire morning treating her like a criminal. At least admit you overreacted yesterday."
"I will not apologize for a crime I did not commit," I replied, meeting his glare. "The only evidence is a foil wrapper found in my storage cabinet. Anyone with a key to this house could have planted it."
"You are the only one who hates her," Jace countered, stepping closer. "You are the only one with a motive to swap the medication and scare her away."
"My motive is keeping our son alive," I said. "I locked her out of the digital cabinet to protect him, not to play games."
"You humiliated her in front of the entire clinic staff," Jace snapped. "You filed a Council grievance over a simple mistake. You are making this family look like a joke."
"You made this family a joke the moment you moved her into our home," I told him.
Talia pushed herself off the sofa. She wrapped her arms around her waist, her eyes wide and shining under the recessed lighting.
"Please stop yelling at her, Jace," Talia whispered, her tone laced with manufactured guilt. "It is my fault. I should never have come back."
She looked at Jace first, ensuring she had his attention before turning to me.
"If my presence makes you so emotionally unstable that you fail to protect your baby, I will pack my bags," Talia said. "I will leave tomorrow."
Owen jumped up from the cushions. He planted his small sneakers firmly on the rug, inserting himself between me and Talia like a shield.
"You just want to drive her away!" my ten-year-old son yelled, his fists clenched at his sides. "She is the only one who actually plays with me!"
Talia reached into her cardigan pocket. She pulled out the crumpled foil wrapper—the same one Clara had photographed and sealed hours ago. She extended her hand toward Jace, bypassing protocol completely.
"Here," Talia murmured, offering a weak smile. "Just take it. Let us stop fighting."
"Do not touch that," I said, stepping forward to intercept the evidence. "It needs to remain sealed for the Council review."
I reached for the plastic edge. Jace moved faster.
Assuming I was lunging at Talia, my husband stepped directly into my path. He planted a heavy hand against my forearm and shoved me backward with entirely too much force.
My shoes slipped on the polished hardwood. I lost my balance entirely, my arms flailing as I twisted in the air.
My lower back slammed into the sharp edge of the oak coffee table. A sickening thud echoed through the room as I collapsed onto the floor.
A sharp, electric pain shot up my spine, paralyzing me for a fraction of a second. Then, my lower abdomen seized in a violent, cramping knot.
I looked down. A dark red stain was already blooming against the grey cotton of my pajama pants, spreading rapidly.
"Jace," I gasped, pressing my hand against my stomach. "Call the healer."
At that exact second, Talia gasped loudly. She grabbed the collar of her shirt, sinking heavily onto the sofa cushions.
"My chest is tight," Talia wheezed, her chest heaving artificially. "It hurts to breathe."
Owen immediately spun around and dropped to his knees beside her, grabbing her hand with both of his.
Jace crouched next to me, but his eyes darted toward the sofa. "Maya, are you able to just calm down for a second?"
He was weighing our symptoms. He was treating my fall as a tantrum meant to overshadow her panic.
I lifted my trembling hand and held it out. Crimson blood coated my palm, stark and undeniable against my pale skin.
"I am bleeding," I said, my voice cracking under the sheer terror of losing my child.
Owen stood behind Jace's shoulder. He stared directly at the blood on my fingers. He did not step closer. He did not cry out for me.
"Do not believe her," my son told his father, his voice completely steady. "She always says she is sick whenever you hang out with Talia."
The air in my lungs vanished. My fingers curled into tight fists against the rug. My own son had learned to look at my bleeding body and judge it as a performance.
Jace frowned, shooting a sharp look over his shoulder. "Do not speak nonsense, Owen."
Yet, Jace did not scoop me into his arms. He did not yell for Clara or dial the emergency line. He turned his head back toward the sofa, checking to see if Talia needed to go to the clinic first.
That single second of hesitation gave me my answer. My danger required verification. Her discomfort demanded immediate action.
I gripped the edge of the coffee table and forced myself upright.
"Clara," I called toward the hallway. "Bring the car around."
Jace looked at the blood soaking through my clothes, then back at Talia. "Maya, wait. Let me make sure she can breathe, and then I will take you."
"No." My voice shook, but the answer did not. "You already decided who you believe."
Clara rushed in and caught my elbow. I let her steady me only long enough to reach the foyer.
Behind us, Owen stayed beside Talia. Jace called after me that he would meet me at the clinic.
I did not trust that promise enough to wait.
"Not the Pack clinic," I told Clara as another cramp folded me in half. "Take me to the neutral hospital outside the territory."
The front door shut behind us before anyone followed.
