“Lucía, stay with me!” Dr. Rivas commanded, her face suddenly looming over mine, her eyes wide and serious. “We’re losing pressure. Get the crash cart!”

The room dissolved into a blur of motion. Colors bled together. The roar of blood in my ears sounded like a freight train. I felt myself slipping, sliding down a long, dark tunnel. I tried to reach out, to grab the bedrail, but my hands were lead.

And in that final second, before the darkness swallowed me whole, the sounds of the room crystallized. I heard the metal clatter of instruments. I heard the rip of Velcro.

And I heard Andrés.

He didn’t scream my name. He didn’t drop the phone. He asked a question, his voice flat, cold, and utterly devoid of panic.

“Is the baby okay?”

Not Is my wife okay?

Not Save her.

Just the baby. The heir. The asset.

Then, the world snapped shut.