My heart stops.
The pale white of my underwear is ruined. A thick, dark crimson stain is spreading outward, heavy, dark, and hot against the fabric.
I stand there in my own blood for what feels like hours, the sharp cramps slowly giving way to a dull, hollow, sickening throb.
“No,” I say numbly. “No, not now. Please, God, not now…”
Another cramp hits me, far worse than the first. It feels as if a pair of ruthless, invisible hands has reached inside my pelvis, twisting, wringing, tearing at my insides with merciless strength. My knees instantly buckle, and I crash down onto the hard, freezing marble floor.
I roll onto my side, clutching my stomach, a high, broken keening sound rising from my throat.
I’m losing him. I’m losing Knox's son, seven months in, bleeding out onto the tile flo
