anyone.”
“I understand.”
“Do not say that.”
“Okay.”
I clutched the contract against my chest.
“If she dies—”
My voice failed.
Ben covered his face.
“She cannot.”
Fast footsteps echoed down the corridor.
We both turned.
The doctor was approaching.
One look at his face made my knees weaken.
Ben stood so quickly that he nearly fell.
Before the doctor reached us, the elevator doors opened.
My parents stepped out.
My mother carried her coat neatly over one arm.
My father was adjusting his cuff links.
They walked toward us with worried expressions that suddenly looked rehearsed.
“How is she?” Mom asked.
The doctor stopped in front of us.
“Rosie is stable.”
For a moment, I did not understand the word.
“Stable?” Ben repeated.
“We controlled the bleeding. She required a transfusion, and she remains in intensive recovery, but her vital signs have improved.”
“And the babies?” I asked.
“Both
