Cole glanced at me, amused. “Hear that, Han? Daddy wants—”
“I said put her on,” Grant repeated. “Now.”
Cole’s smile twitched. Not fear yet. Just irritation that he wasn’t controlling the pace.
He shoved the phone at me. My fingers were cold and slick.
“Dad,” I breathed, and the word came out broken.
On the other end, something sharpened. “Hannah. Where are you?”
“At home,” I said, fighting to keep my breath steady. My stomach clenched again. “I’m bleeding. I think… I think I’m losing the baby.”
A pause—small and controlled, like a door closing quietly.
“Listen to me,” Grant said. “Stay on the line. Do not hang up. Tell me what room you’re in.”
“The kitchen.”
“Good. Put the phone down where I can still hear you.”
Cole made a disgusted sound. “Oh my God, can you stop—”
Grant’s voice turned to him without rising. “Cole, do not speak while I’m giving instructions.”
Cole blinked. “Excuse me?”
Grant didn’t care. “Hannah, sit down. Back against the cabinets if you can. Keep pressure where you’re bleeding.”
I lowered myself to the floor. The tile shocked my thighs. I pressed my hands to my abdomen and tried not to fold in half.
Evelyn hovered by the table, arms crossed, watching like this was an inconvenience that had spilled into her kitchen.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
