About this drama
Warm blood soaked the pad. I stared at the bright surgical light. The doctor said sorry. Cold metal moved, then nothing—our baby gone. Phone buzzed: $52 from Dorian. Messages: Isabella missed Soren's payment; $52 should calm me; expenses over $200 need her approval; clear her name; waiting won't kill Soren. I laughed—$52 not even two lattes. He didn't know Soren died last night from delayed surgery. And minutes earlier, with that $52 and those words, he killed our second child too.
