"Besides, the baby is inside my body. If something were wrong, I'd be the first to feel it. And right now, I feel fine."
I took Darrell's hand and gently placed it against my lower belly.
"Darrell, feel that. Our baby is perfectly fine in there."
The skin beneath his palm suddenly pushed outward in a tiny kick.
Something unreadable flickered in the depths of his eyes.
The hands that had been shoving me toward the door went slack.
I seized the opening immediately.
"Darrell, just wait three more days. Or if you're really that worried, we can monitor things for a few more hours. If you're still not at ease after that, I'll do whatever you say."
"Alright..."
"Darrell!"
The door burst open from the outside. Rebecca cut him off before he could finish.
She stood in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes locked on him.
"Did you already forget what you just told me?"
Darrell's entire body went rigid.
He yanked his hand off my belly as if he'd been burned and grabbed the rail of my hospital bed.
His voice turned ice-cold as he barked at the assistant trailing behind Rebecca.
"Get my wife into the operating room."
I clamped both hands around the doorframe. My nails bent backward, and blood seeped from beneath them.
"Darrell Farley, this is my child. I decide what happens. I'm not going!"
His tone stayed gentle, but underneath it was something immovable.
"Beverly, I'm doing this for your own good. Be a good girl."
He pried my fingers off the doorframe one by one, wrenching them loose, then shot a look at the assistant frozen in place.
"Are you stupid? What are you standing there for? Get her into the OR!"
The words had barely left his mouth before a dozen hulking men flooded in from behind the door.
They didn't ask. They didn't explain. They just shoved my bed toward the operating room.
The one in front pressed a towel reeking of alcohol over my mouth and nose.
The figures around me began to blur, edges dissolving like watercolors left in the rain.
Through the haze, I could just make out Rebecca's face. That triumphant smile. That dripping contempt.
"Beverly Gilbert. Richest woman in the country, and so what? You still ended up raising my man for me like a good little wife. Eight babies. He killed eight of your babies for me. Today makes nine, the last one. After today, your empire, your husband, they're all mine."
Rebecca's laughter rang out, wild and unrestrained.
Through the fog, I saw Darrell pick up the anesthesia needle.
I dug my nails into my own thigh, hard enough to draw blood, forcing myself to stay conscious.
The moment Darrell and Rebecca looked away, I slipped the pill hidden in my sleeve cuff into my mouth.
The pill counteracted anesthesia.
The second I swallowed it, the fog in my head began to lift.
The anesthetic flowed through my veins anyway.
Darrell watched me pretend to drift off, and a long, slow breath left his lungs.
He reached behind him and pulled Rebecca into his arms, holding her so tight his knuckles went white. His voice trembled with barely contained excitement.
"Becca, our good days are almost here."
He buried his face against her, his eyes rimmed red.
After a long moment, he picked up a surgical blade the length of his forearm and walked toward me.
When I'd swallowed that pill, I knew what was coming.
But when the cold edge of the blade actually split my skin open, the agony hit like lightning through every nerve. Sweat drenched the sheets beneath me in an instant.
The tearing, ripping pain radiated from my lower belly and flooded through my entire body.
I didn't dare make a sound. I didn't dare move. Not even a twitch.
By some mercy, Darrell's attention was fixed entirely on my abdomen. He never noticed the sweat soaking my forehead, plastering my hair to my temples.
"Darrell, hurry up!"
Rebecca stepped forward, dabbing the sweat from his brow with one hand while urging him on with barely concealed anxiety.
Then his fingers seemed to brush against something soft. Something small and tender.
