Zayn didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Every heartbeat felt borrowed.
Finally—
The doors opened.
The same doctor stepped out, exhaustion etched into every line of his face.
Everyone stood at once.
“Well?” Zayn demanded, already bracing himself for devastation.
The doctor took a breath.
“She’s alive.”
Zayn’s legs nearly gave out.
“But,” the doctor continued, “it was close. Very close.”
“What did you do?” Zayn asked, voice shaking.
“We stopped the bleeding,” he said. “She required extensive transfusions. We were able to preserve her uterus, but—she will not be able to carry another pregnancy. Ever.”
Zayn nodded numbly. “I don’t care,” he said immediately. “I don’t care. She’s alive. That’s all that matters.”
The doctor studied him for a moment, then nodded. “She’s in recovery now. Yo
