The Fourth Heartbeat

I had lied straight to his face.

"It's a mistake," I had told Michael when he shoved the positive lab results at me an hour ago. "An old printout from last year. Maria mixed up the files."

The doorbell had chimed before he could demand the truth, flooding our foyer with his relatives. Now, the lie sat heavy in my stomach as I stared across the long dining room table.

"Pass the cranberry sauce, please," Michael's mother, Eleanor, said. She patted Leo's head. "Look at this handsome boy. He has your nose, Michael."

"He does," Michael agreed. He cut a piece of roasted turkey and placed it on the child's plate.

Grace sat on Michael's right. I sat on his left.

"Leo," Grace prompted, leaning over the boy. "What do we say to the man who bought you all those toys this morning?"

The table quieted. The clatter of silverware stopped entirely.

Leo looked up from his mashed potatoes. He pointed a sticky finger at Michael. "Thank you, Daddy."

Eleanor gasped. She pressed a linen napkin to her mouth, her eyes shining with sudden tears. "Oh, my goodness. Did you hear that?"

"I heard it," Michael's brother, David, muttered from the end of the table. "Incredible."

"Daddy," Michael repeated. A wide, genuine smile broke across his face. He wrapped an arm around Leo's small shoulders. "You're welcome, buddy."

My fingers tightened around the stem of my crystal water glass.

No one looked at me. Not Eleanor. Not David. Not my husband. They were too busy wiping away tears of joy over the family they had always wanted him to have.

Grace reached out and rested her hand over Michael's knuckles. He didn't pull away. Then, she shifted her gaze directly to me.

"You don't mind, right, Anna?" Grace asked. Her voice carried easily over the entire table.

"Mind what?" I asked.

"Us being here. Leo calling him that." Grace tilted her head, feigning perfect innocence. "It's just so wonderful for Michael to finally experience fatherhood. Since you two don't have children of your own."

The dining room plunged into absolute silence.

The crystal glass in my hand groaned under the pressure of my grip. A sharp ache bloomed low in my abdomen, a sudden, terrifying cramp that stole the air from my lungs.

I looked at Michael. I waited for him to defend me. I waited for him to tell his ex-girlfriend she had crossed a line.

Michael picked up his wine glass. He didn't meet my eyes.

"Grace didn't mean it like that, Anna," he said. "Don't make a scene."

"Don't make a scene?" I repeated.

"She's just happy Leo is comfortable here," he added.

That single sentence severed whatever invisible thread still tied me to him. He wasn't just dismissing my grief. He was protecting hers.

Another cramp ripped through my stomach. Much sharper this time.

I pushed my chair back. The wooden legs screeched violently against the hardwood floor.

"Excuse me," I said.

"Anna, sit down," Michael ordered.

"Let her go," Eleanor whispered loudly to him. "She's always so sensitive."

I turned away from the table and walked out of the dining room.

By the time I reached the foyer, the pain was blinding. I doubled over, pressing my palm against the floral wallpaper to keep from collapsing.

*Not again.*

Please, God, not again.

I squeezed my eyes shut, panting through the agonizing wave. I needed my coat. I needed my car keys.

The heavy oak front door swung open, bringing a rush of freezing Chicago wind.

"I know I'm late," a familiar voice announced. Heavy shoes stomped on the welcome mat. "Traffic on the interstate was a nightmare."

I opened my eyes.

Henry Collins stood in the entryway, brushing snow from his dark wool peacoat. We had been friends since college, long before he became a top researcher in reproductive medicine. I had invited him to the holiday open house weeks ago.

He stopped brushing his coat. He saw my face.

"Anna?" Henry dropped his wrapped gift box onto the console table. He crossed the distance between us in two long strides. "What's wrong?"

"Henry," I gasped.

My knees buckled.

He caught me instantly. His strong arms wrapped tightly around my waist, keeping me upright.

"I've got you," he said, his tone shifting into immediate medical authority. "Where does it hurt?"

"My stomach," I choked out. "The baby."

Henry's eyes widened slightly, absorbing the secret I hadn't even told my husband. He didn't ask questions. He just tightened his hold on me.

"I'm taking you to the hospital," Henry stated.

"What the hell is going on out here?"

Michael stepped into the foyer. His annoyed expression vanished the second he saw Henry's arms wrapped around my waist.

A dark, unfamiliar fury twisted Michael's features.

"Get your hands off my wife, Collins," Michael snarled.

He marched forward, reaching for my arm.

Henry twisted his body, shielding me from Michael's grasp.

"Back off, Sterling," Henry warned.

"She is my wife," Michael barked. "Anna, come here right now."

"She can barely stand," Henry shot back. He hoisted me up, supporting my weight completely against his side. "I'm taking her to the emergency room."

Michael froze. His gaze dropped to my pale face, then to the hand I had pressed hard against my lower stomach.

"Emergency room?" Michael asked. His voice lost its aggressive edge. "Anna, what's wrong with you?"

"Don't," I whispered.

"What?" Michael took a step closer.

"Don't touch me," I told him. I buried my face against Henry's shoulder. "Get me out of here, Henry. Please."

Henry didn't hesitate. He guided me out the front door and into the biting winter cold, leaving Michael standing alone in the doorway.

As Henry helped me into the passenger seat of his running SUV, I glanced back at the house.

Michael was staring at us from the porch. His fists were clenched tight at his sides, his jaw locked in a rigid line of pure jealousy. He took a step into the snow, as if to chase the car.

But Grace appeared in the doorway, placing a hand gently on his shoulder.

Michael stopped.

Henry slammed my door shut and hurried to the driver's side. He threw the car into gear and sped down the icy driveway.

"Hang on, Anna," Henry said, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "We're five minutes from Chicago Med."

I curled into a ball on the leather seat, praying my baby was still alive.

Then, my phone buzzed in my coat pocket.

I pulled it out with trembling fingers. It was a text message from David, my wealth manager.

*The four million has been withdrawn. Michael is going to receive the bank alert any second.*