The heavy security gate at the end of the hall finished its descent, locking into the floor with a dull, metallic thud.

Two uniformed hospital guards stepped out from the stairwell.

Their heavy black boots clicked on the polished linoleum.

“Is everything all right here, Ms. Voss?” the older guard asked, his hand resting on his belt.

“We have an unauthorized attempt to move patients from the neonatal unit,” Margaret said.

She pointed to the transport incubator.

“Please assist the nurses in returning the infants to their sterile bays.”

Grant took a step toward the incubator, his hands curling into fists.

“Don’t touch that cart, Grant,” I said, stepping directly into his path.

The pain in my abdomen was a sharp, hot knife, but I did not move.

He stared down at me, his eyes cold and full of hatred.

“You are ruining your own life, Chloe,” he whispered.

“I am saving my children,” I said.

The security guards moved closer, their presence silent but heavy.

Grant looked at the guards, then at the locked elevator doors.

He knew he could not force his way out with a team of guards watching.