At the hospital, a flurry of medical activity enveloped Nyla, while Rowan was left in the sterile waiting room, his mind a whirlpool of emotions. He clung to hope, envisioning a future where Nyla would awaken, where their child would be born into a world of love and safety.

Hours passed in agonizing slowness. Finally, a doctor emerged, his expression grave yet not devoid of hope. “We’ve stabilized both mother and child,” he said. “Nyla is unconscious, but her vital signs are improving. The baby is alive, but we’ll need to monitor closely.”

Relief flooded Rowan, so profound it almost buckled his knees. He nodded, words failing him as the weight of what nearly happened pressed down on him.