“Bring two units of O-negative if you can,” he added.

He hung up and looked at me, his faded blue eyes fierce with determination.

“Keep your eyes on me, Emma,” he ordered gently.

“Don’t close them.”

He got up, grabbed a stack of clean towels from the linen closet, and came back.

He packed the towels tightly against me to stem the bleeding, his hands moving with practiced efficiency.

From the bassinet, Ethan’s cries grew louder.

Thomas glanced at the baby, then back at me.

“He’s safe, Emma. I will protect him.”

Sirens began to wail in the distance, echoing through the quiet neighborhood.

Thomas held my hand, his grip solid and warm, anchoring me to the room.

“We are going to get you to St. Catherine’s,” he said.

My eyelids felt incredibly heavy, the world slipping away.

Just as the paramedics burst through the front door, Thomas’s phone lit up on the floor.

The screen showed an incoming call.

It was Ryan.

Thomas stared at the screen, his face hardening into stone.

He reached down and swiped the screen to answer.