Instead, the elevator cab was empty, its mirrored walls reflecting the warm, dim lights of the hallway.

Another wave of pain rolled through my abdomen, sharp and hot.

I gasped, my knees buckling under my weight.

“I’ve got you, Elizabeth,” Margaret said, her strong hands catching me by the elbows.

Mr. Vance stepped forward, his uniform jacket damp from the rain he must have encountered downstairs.

“We need to move now,” Mr. Vance said, his voice tight.

“The wind is picking up, and the street-level doors are already flooding,” he said.

Sloane was still standing by the quartz island, her face pale under the designer lighting.

“He hung up on me,” Sloane whispered, looking down at her phone.

“Nathan left me,” she said.

Margaret didn’t even look at her as she helped me take a slow, agonizing step forward.

“Your husband is a coward, Sloane,” Margaret said.

“He always has been,” Margaret said.

My breath came in short, ragged bursts as we reached the hallway.

Every step felt like walking through broken glass.

I pressed my hand against my stomach, feeling the tight, hard dome of my uterus.