“What did she hide?”
“A drive.”
“What’s on it?”
“Audio recordings. Bank records. Scanned letters. Part of a video.”
“Part of a video of what?”
“Your mother’s final night.”
I stood so quickly the chair scraped backward.
“We’re going.”
“We cannot leave until we know whether Rosie and the babies—”
The operating-room doors opened.
A surgeon stepped through in blue scrubs, her mask hanging loose beneath her chin.
Ben froze.
The surgeon’s eyes found him first.
“Mr. Carter?”
He moved toward her.
I followed, every other horror suddenly pushed aside by the only one that mattered.
“Your wife survived the surgery,” the doctor said.
Ben made a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh.
I grabbed his arm.
“And the babies?”
“One boy and one girl. Both are alive.”
My knees weakened again.
The surgeon continued, “They’re extremely premature, but their heart rates are stable. The neonatal team is taking them to intensive care.”
