His lips parted as he stared at me, his gaze moving from my face to my swollen belly.

“Ethan,” I croaked, my voice barely a gasp.

He stepped to the side of the table and took my hand.

His fingers were trembling inside the latex gloves.

“Hannah, what happened to you?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“Abruptio placentae,” the nurse said, pushing a syringe into my IV line. “The babies are in distress.”

Ethan looked at the ultrasound monitor as the nurse placed the probe on my stomach.

Two small, faint heartbeats flickered on the black screen, fast but weak.

“Twins,” Ethan murmured, his eyes wide with a sudden, deep shock.

I pulled him closer with the last ounce of strength in my fingers.

He leaned down, his ear inches from my lips.

The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the smell of his clean soap and the sharp scent of my own blood.

“They are yours, Ethan,” I whispered.

His body went completely stiff.

He pulled back, his eyes searching mine with a desperate, terrified intensity.

“What?” he breathed.

“They are your babies,” I whispered, tears finally leaking from the corners of my eyes. “They are yours.”

The heart monitor suddenly screamed a flat, continuous tone.

“She’s flatlining,” the nurse yelled. “We have to deliver now!”

“Prepare for an emergency C-section,” Ethan commanded, his voice suddenly turning cold and hard, though his eyes remained fixed on mine.

“Get the rapid blood panel and the genetic profiling kit,” he told the nurse.

“Why genetic profiling, Doctor?” she asked.

“Just do it,” he barked.

He grabbed the scalpel from the tray, his hand steadying as the silver blade caught the light.

I felt the cold sting of the antiseptic on my skin, and then the world began to tilt.

The darkness rushed in from the edges of my vision, heavy and cold.