Magnesium sulfate dripped into my veins like liquid fire, turning my muscles to lead and my thoughts to molasses. Every time the fragile green lines dipped, my heart stopped.

During the emergency surgery to save the twins, the team had paged my emergency contact for spousal consent on a transfusion. Daniel. He never answered.

For forty-eight hours, as I drifted in and out and my children were carried off to incubators, I was entirely alone.

On the morning of my third day, the heavy door swung open.

Daniel didn’t knock. He walked in wearing a pristine charcoal suit, smelling of espresso and cold morning air, a leather folio under one arm.

He didn’t look at the empty bassinets. He didn’t ask the nurse adjusting my IV how I was doing. He didn’t touch my bruised, needle-marked hand.