“I will have a guard posted outside this door tonight.”

“A private guard from my own firm.”

“Nobody gets in without my permission.”

“Sleep well.”

She stepped out, and the door clicked shut.

I lay in the quiet room, staring at the dark television screen.

The image of Vanessa at the terminal was burned into my mind.

I thought of my three babies, tiny and fragile, sleeping in the high-security nursery downstairs.

They were safe for now.

But tomorrow would decide the rest of their lives.

I reached down to touch my abdomen, feeling the sharp pull of the surgical stitches.

The pain was a dull, constant reminder of what I had survived.

I forced myself to breathe deeply, inhaling the sterile, metallic air of the room.

Hours passed slowly.

The green light of the heart monitor cast long shadows across the floorboards.

Outside, the city lights flickered through the rain.

I did not sleep.

I watched the minutes tick away on the wall clock.

At 6:00 AM, the sky began to turn a pale, cold gray.

A nurse entered quietly to check my vitals.