The car hadn't fully stopped before the doors were opened.
Hands were already there.
Waiting.
Prepared.
The moment the engine cut, everything outside rushed in at once—
footsteps, voices, urgency.
Izana was pulled from the back seat immediately, the stretcher sliding beneath him in one smooth, practiced movement.
"…Careful—don't shift his back too much."
"Move. Now."
No hesitation.
No wasted time.
They pushed forward instantly.
Fast.
Leah moved with them.
Right beside them.
Too close for anyone to stop her yet.
Her hand stayed in his—
until the stretcher shifted—
until her fingers slipped from his.
"…Iz."
No response.
Not even the faintest movement.
That silence hit harder than anything else.
The corridor swallowed him quickly.
White lights overhead.
Sharp turns.
Voices overlapping.
"…Prep the operating room—."
"…Blood pressure unstable—."
"…We're losing time—."
Leah moved faster.
Trying to keep up.
Trying not to lose sight of him.
"…Wait—wait—."
Dante stepped in front of her.
Immediate.
Unmoving.
Blocking her path completely.
"…You're not going in."
Leah shook her head instantly.
"…Move."
Her voice wasn't loud.
But it cut through everything.
Dante didn't move.
"…No."
Elias stepped beside him at the same time.
Calm.
Controlled.
Final.
"…Leah."
Her eyes snapped to him.
"…That's my husband."
"…And he is about to be operated on," Elias replied evenly.
"…You entering that room will not help him."
Her breath shook.
"…I don't care."
"…You should."
Silence fell hard between them.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
Leah looked past them again.
Saw Izana being pushed through the doors.
Saw the distance growing.
Saw the moment slipping away from her.
Her hand lifted again.
Reaching.
"…Iz—."
The doors closed.
Soft.
Final.
And the sound echoed.
Too loud.
Too permanent.
Leah didn't move.
Not immediately.
Her hand stayed raised for a second too long—
like her body hadn't understood yet.
Then slowly—
it dropped.
Dante stepped back slightly now.
No longer blocking.
Just watching.
Elias turned away already, phone in hand.
"…I want constant updates."
A pause.
"…No delays. No interruptions."
Another pause.
"…If anything changes, I know immediately."
Leah didn't hear all of it.
Only fragments.
"…critical…"
"…stabilize…"
"…surgery…"
Her legs gave out before she realized it.
She sat.
Not properly.
Just enough to stay upright.
Her hands moved instantly.
To her stomach.
Holding.
Protecting.
"…You promised."
A whisper.
Barely there.
Time didn't move forward.
It stretched.
Hung.
Pressed down on everything.
Dante stood nearby.
Arms crossed.
Eyes fixed on the doors.
Elias moved further down the corridor, still on calls, voice low but sharp.
Leah stayed still.
Too still.
Her gaze never left the doors.
Not once.
Her fingers pressed lightly against her stomach.
Then tightened.
Then loosened again.
"…Don't leave me."
Her voice trembled slightly now.
"…You said you wouldn't."
No answer came.
Only silence.
Only the closed doors.
Footsteps approached.
Soft.
Careful.
A nurse stopped beside her.
"…Miss Leah?"
Leah didn't look up immediately.
"…What."
The nurse hesitated slightly.
"…We need to check on you."
No response.
"…And the baby."
That word—
baby—
made her fingers press harder instantly.
Dante's gaze shifted toward her.
Elias paused mid-call.
Leah shook her head slowly.
"…No."
The nurse kept her voice gentle.
"…You've been through a shock. We need to make sure everything is alright."
Leah's eyes stayed on the doors.
"…I'm fine."
"…We need to be certain."
A pause.
Leah's voice dropped.
"…I'm not leaving."
The nurse stepped a little closer.
Not forcing.
Just steady.
"…It will only take a few minutes."
Leah finally looked at her.
Then back at the doors.
Still closed.
Still silent.
Her throat tightened.
"…If something happens while I'm gone…"
Dante spoke.
Low.
Firm.
"…Nothing is happening in the next two minutes."
Leah didn't respond.
Her hands trembled now.
"…I can't leave him."
Dante's voice lowered slightly.
Sharper.
"…Then don't leave him."
A pause.
"…But don't ignore the child either."
Silence.
Then—
"…He wouldn't let you."
That landed.
Different.
He added, quieter this time:
"…You know that."
Leah closed her eyes briefly.
Her breath uneven.
Then she opened them again.
"…Fine."
The examination room felt too calm.
Too quiet.
Like it didn't belong in the same world as the corridor outside.
Leah sat on the edge of the bed.
Hands clenched tightly in her lap.
Her shoulders tense.
The nurse prepared everything quickly.
"…Just try to breathe normally."
Leah didn't respond.
Cold gel touched her skin.
She flinched slightly.
But didn't say anything.
The monitor flickered on.
Soft light filled the room.
Shifting shapes.
Movement.
The nurse adjusted the probe carefully.
Silence settled in.
Leah's voice came out low.
"…Are they okay?"
The nurse didn't look away from the screen.
"…Yes."
A pause.
"…The baby is stable."
Leah swallowed.
Her hand moved over her stomach again.
"…And Izana?"
A brief hesitation.
"…They are working on him."
Not enough.
But it was all she got.
Leah nodded faintly.
Seconds passed.
Quiet.
Then—
"…There."
Leah's head lifted slightly.
"…What."
The nurse's expression softened.
"…Everything looks good."
Leah stared at the screen.
Not fully seeing it.
"…Good?"
"…Yes."
A pause.
Then—
"…He's doing well."
Silence.
Leah blinked slowly.
"…He?"
The nurse nodded gently.
"…Yes."
That was enough.
Leah's hand moved slowly over her stomach.
Her voice dropped.
"…A boy."
The nurse smiled faintly.
"…Yes. Your son is healthy."
Leah didn't react immediately.
Her eyes stayed on the screen.
But something shifted.
Not relief.
Not fully.
Something deeper.
Heavier.
"…Izana doesn't know."
Quiet.
Almost distant.
"…He doesn't know yet."
The door opened behind her.
Dante stood there.
Watching.
"…What did they say."
Leah didn't turn immediately.
"…He's fine."
Dante nodded once.
"…And the baby?"
A pause.
Leah's hand stayed on her stomach.
Gentler now.
"…He's fine too."
Silence.
Dante's brow lifted slightly.
"…He."
Leah nodded faintly.
"…A boy."
Dante exhaled slowly through his nose.
His posture shifted slightly.
"…Of course it is."
Leah glanced at him.
"…What does that mean."
Dante's expression didn't change much.
"…Nothing," Dante said.
"…Just… he's going to be worse now."
"…Worse?"
"…More protective."
A pause.
"…If that's even possible."
A pause.
Then quieter:
"…He's going to lose his mind when he hears that."
Leah's voice softened.
"…He should be the one hearing it first."
Dante nodded once.
"…Then tell him when he wakes up."
Leah didn't respond to that.
Because the words "when he wakes up" felt too uncertain.
Back in the corridor—
nothing had changed.
The doors were still closed.
The lights still harsh.
The air still heavy.
Elias ended another call as they returned.
"…Status."
Dante answered immediately.
"…Still in surgery."
Elias nodded once.
Then looked at Leah.
Brief.
"…And you."
Leah didn't hesitate.
"…He's fine."
A pause.
"…The baby."
Elias held her gaze for a second longer.
Then nodded.
"…Good."
Leah sat back down.
Same chair.
Same place.
But different now.
One hand rested over her stomach.
The other—
empty.
Her fingers curled slightly.
Like they remembered what had been there.
Her gaze lifted to the doors again.
Unmoving.
Waiting.
Dante leaned slightly against the wall now.
Still watching.
Still present.
"…You should rest," he said quietly.
Leah shook her head.
"…I'm fine."
"…You're not."
"…I said I'm fine."
A pause.
Dante didn't push further.
Leah's voice came again.
Softer this time.
"…He's a boy."
Dante glanced at her.
"…Yeah."
Leah's fingers pressed gently against her stomach.
"…He would have wanted to know."
"…He will."
A pause.
Leah's voice dropped to almost nothing.
"…He has to."
Leah's voice came again.
Softer this time.
"…Zarek."
Dante glanced at her.
She continued quietly.
"…Your father is stubborn."
A faint, almost broken breath left her.
"…So you'll have to be patient with him."
A pause.
Her fingers pressed gently against her stomach.
"…But he's coming back."
Silence.
Heavy.
Unspoken.
Her gaze never left the doors.
Her voice barely carried.
"…You're going to meet your son."
A pause.
Her hand pressed softly.
"…So come back to us."
The doors didn't open.
The silence didn't break.
But she didn't look away.
Not anymore.
Not this time.