Katrina's POV
The first thing I noticed was the ceiling.
It was white and textured. I stared at it for what felt like a long time, processing it the way your brain processed simple things when it's rebooting from somewhere it was never supposed to go.
The ceiling was white. I was breathing. I was alive. That landed a second later. I was actually alive. My left side felt like someone had taken a crowbar to my ribs, my head was an experiment in pain I hadn't consented to, and my throat felt like I'd swallowed the entire river rather than just most of it.
I tried to sit up. The pain that exploded through my left side was so immediate and violent that I hissed. And a firm hand came to my shoulder.
"Easy." A male voice spoke. "You have three cracked ribs on the left side. Sitting up fast is going to be a no from your body for awhile."
I turned my head. The man beside me was early thirties, and had a blank expression. He was sitting in a chair like someone who had been there for hours.
"Who are you?" I asked, voice came out wrecked.
"I'm Spencer Ashford," He said. "I'm an ER doctor. I pulled you out of the river."
I stared at him.
"The river." I repeated.
"Yes. You went off the mountain road around eleven PM." He said flatly. "I was behind you on the road and I witnessed it."
My brain tried to file everything. The brakes, the rain, the car behind me, being too close and then the impact, and then no road, no ground, just...
"Someone hit me," I said.
"Twice on purpose." He paused. "You went through the guardrail into the river. I pulled you out and brought you here to my private clinic. So you're off the books."
"Off the...." I stopped. "Why off the books?"
The door opened before he answered. A woman came in with the same energy as the him. She wore a stethoscope and did the full check without small talk. Checked my pupils, monitors, pulse, all of it under ninety seconds.
"Vitals are stabilizing," she said, then looked at me directly. "I'm Dr. Richard. How's your pain level?"
"Manageable." I said, even though it was a lie. "What happened to my ribs?"
"It's door impact, they're heal." She paused. "Ms. Lancaster, when you came in we did a full exam. And I need tell you something and I need you to stay calm when I do."
"Every sentence that starts that way doesn't end well." I said.
"You're pregnant."
"Pregnant," I repeated, still unable to grab the word.
"Yes." She replied.
"How..." I stopped, I knew obviously knew how. "How far?"
"Based on the ultrasound, approximately ten weeks."
Ten weeks pregnant, all these while I was pregnant and I didn't know. I could've died not knowing.
"There's more," Dr. Richard said.
What more could there be?
"It's twins."
Twins. Three years of fertility specialists and dinner questions about my cycle and being told I was failing to produce something I had apparently been producing all along, twins specifically, which felt like the universe had a sick sense of humor. I had been carrying twins the entire time they were replacing me.
"Twins." I repeated.
"Both are still viable," Dr. Richard said, pulling a chair close, and her voice shifted to something more deliberate. "Which is genuinely remarkable. Mrs. Lancaster, because I need you to understand what these babies survive tonight." She folded her hands. "The crash alone, blunt force trauma, the impact your body absorbed, statistically that should have ended both pregnancies immediately. Then there was the near-drowning. Oxygen deprivation is one of the fastest ways to lose a pregnancy, let alone two.
"So they should be dead," I said quietly.
"By every reasonable medical probability, yes. But they're not." She said sharply. "However, and I need you to hear this clearly, surviving tonight doesn't mean you're out of danger. You are now one of the highest-risk pregnancies I have ever assessed."
"What do you mean?"
"It means the next four weeks are the most critical window. The trauma your body sustained has enormous stress on the pregnancy. You could lose one twin, or both. A complication could develop tomorrow or three weeks from now with very little warning." She held my gaze. "And if you make it to full term, which is a big if, delivering twins after a pregnancy this compromised is going to be its own battle. Early delivery is almost certain. NICU time is almost certain. There will be complications, Ms. Lancaster. I can't tell you what kind or when, but I can tell you they're coming."
My hands were on my stomach before I could think.
"So what you're telling me," I said slowly. "Is that I survived a murder attempt, I'm pregnant with twins I didn't know existed, and even if everything goes perfectly From here, the next nine months are going to be a medical hell."
"That's an accurate summary, yes." She replied.
"Just great." I looked at the ceiling. "Why not include that my apartment also burned down? To complete the evening."
Dr. Richard looked at Spencer, Spencer looked at ne with that Sam blank, unbothered expression that I was starting to understand wasn't indifference, it was just how he was built."
"There's something else," he said.
He held out his phone.
KATRINA LANCASTER DEAD IN TRAGIC MOUNTAIN ROAD ACCIDENT.
I read it once then read the subheading.
Cruz Family Mourns Loss of Former Daughter-in-law. Investigation Concludes: Accidental Death.
I checked the timestamp. Less than five hours after I'd gone off that road. No body found, and investigation was concluded. Case closed. Katrina Lancaster, filed and finished.
"They didn't even look," I said.
"They didn't need to." Spencer's voice stayed neutral. "Someone made calls, fast. Specific calls to people who picked up immediately. That kind of speed doesn't happen without serious power behind it." He took the phone back. "I watched the car hit you and sped off."
"It's the Cruz," I said.
"That's the only name that fits."
I sat with that. With the headline on his phone and my hands on my stomach and the specific, devasting clarity of understanding that the family who handed me divorce papers had apparently decided paperwork wasn't sufficient.
"If you surface," Spencer said, cutting though my thoughts. "They'll know they failed, and next time they won't leave a witness."
His eyes moved briefly to my hands still pressed flat against my stomach. "You're not just deciding for yourself anymore."
The room went quiet.
My ribs ached, and my heart pounded. Somewhere underneath my hands, two heartbeats that had survived everything tonight with stubbornness.
Nicholas's children, I thought. Growing inside me while his family signed my death certificate.
The room went quiet.
