Emma tasted the words like poison. “The baby’s heart rate is dropping,” she said, too softly. “This isn’t a—”
“How do I even know it’s mine?” Derek snapped, the sentence landing like a slap.
The nurse at the doorway stiffened. Another nurse turned away, embarrassed on Emma’s behalf.
Emma stared at Derek’s face, searching for the man who used to hold her hand when she was nervous. Searching for the man who once brought her cheap flowers and said, “We’ll build something real.”
But Derek’s eyes held only the cold certainty of someone who believed he was finally winning.
Veronica laughed.
It was a sound like crystal shattering on marble.
“Oh, Emma,” Veronica cooed, stepping closer as if to admire a painting she’d bought at a discount. “This is… tragic. Truly. But Derek’s made his choice. It’s time you stop clinging to your little fantasy marriage and sign like an adult.”
Derek reached into his briefcase with slow, deliberate motions. He pulled out a manila folder and tossed it onto Emma’s bed.
The papers landed across her belly.
Across Lily.
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