One Too Many Red Flags

Phoebe had no intention of keeping the baby.

Quietly, she reached out to her brother. Under his arrangement, she transferred to another hospital.

"Phoebe, why the sudden transfer?" Nathan asked, confusion in his voice. "You're scheduled for a C-section soon. Isn't it risky to change hospitals now?"

"My brother arranged it," Phoebe replied coolly. "He said the doctors here work directly with the military. They're more reliable."

Nathan's doubts eased. "If it's your brother's recommendation, it should be fine."

Phoebe's brother had always been the authority figure in their family. Nathan trusted his judgment without question.

The transfer proceeded smoothly.

The new hospital's plan remained the same—an early delivery. The surgery was scheduled for the following day.

Nathan cleared his schedule. He moved into the hospital to stay by Phoebe's side.

"You don't have to do this," Phoebe said flatly. "You're busy. It's okay if you're not here for this."

The truth was, she didn't want to see him.

"Nothing is more important than you," Nathan said, his voice soft with affection. "You've gone through so much carrying this child. If I leave you now, how could I call myself a man?"

He smiled faintly. "I can't do much to help, but at least I can bring you water tonight."

Phoebe said nothing more.

That night, she woke up needing to use the bathroom. Struggling to sit up, she turned on the light and glanced at the bed beside hers.

It was empty.

Nathan was gone.

A chill crept through her heart. Without hesitation, she picked up her phone. As she expected, a message from Clara awaited her.

[Room 606.]

Following the numbers along the corridor, Phoebe stopped in front of the door. Laughter, soft and teasing, drifted through the crack.

"Master, your little bunny is sick," Clara's voice was sweet, almost cloying. "She needs a big, thick syringe thrust into her body to make her feel better..."

"Are you insane?" Nathan's voice, low and tense, cut through the air. "Why did you come to the hospital? Phoebe's surgery is tomorrow. She can't handle any stress."

"As long as she doesn't find out, what's the harm?" Clara giggled as she slipped her arms around his neck. "Master, your little bunny wore a nurse's outfit just for you. Don't you want to see it?"

He hesitated. It was slight but enough for Clara to press closer. Her hand slid down, fingers deftly working at his belt.

"You've been holding back for so long," she whispered. "Aren't you suffering? Let me help you..."

The sound of his zipper filled the room. Then, slowly, she knelt before him.

His breathing grew heavier. Whatever resistance he had left crumbled as he placed a hand on the back of her head.

The sounds that followed were obscene.

Phoebe closed her eyes, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

She turned and walked away without a word. On the elevator ride down, her fingers trembled as she dialed her brother's number.

"Move the surgery up," she said. "I can't take this anymore. Get this child out of me—tonight."

Disgust twisted in her stomach.

The preparations were swift. Within hours, Phoebe was on the operating table, staring at the bulge of her belly.

Six and a half months. The baby was almost viable.

Could she really kill a child that had already taken shape inside her?

For a long moment, she lay silent.

In the end, she gave him one last chance.

"Call Nathan," she told the doctor. "Tell him the surgery has been moved up. If he comes right away and stays with me, I'll keep the baby. I'll leave with the child and never look back."

Her voice hardened. "If he doesn't, I don't want this child."

She had done nothing wrong. She refused to bear the weight of killing her own child.

If this baby died tonight, the blood would be on Nathan's hands.