“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 are breathing with minimal assistance. They are small, but they are doing well.”
A sob escaped me.
I grabbed Ben’s arm.
“She made it.”
He covered his mouth as tears ran down his face.
“She made it.”
My mother stepped forward with her arms open.
“Oh, thank God.”
I moved away from her.
“What you did?”
She stopped.
“What are you talking about?”
I unfolded the contract.
The color disappeared from both my parents’ faces.
Dad recovered first.
“This is not the place.”
“You tried to pay Ben to marry Rosie.”
My mother glanced toward the doctor.
“Keep your voice down.”
“You planned to send her away.”
“You do not understand the situation,” Dad said.
“I understand every word of your agreement.”
“We were planning for her future,” Mom insisted.
“No. You were removing her from yours.”
Her mouth tightened.
