Maya’s POV
My hand moves toward my phone.
Daphne's eyes track the movement. Desperate. Pleading. Trusting me to do what needs to be done.
Lora's voice screams in my head. ‘No. Don't. This is it. This is what you came for. Let it happen.’
I grab my phone. Dial 911.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"I need an ambulance. My employer's water broke—she's thirty-six weeks pregnant, high-risk, the baby has cardiac abnormalities. She's having contractions and we're alone."
My voice comes out steadier than it should. Professional and controlled. Like I'm not making the choice that destroys six years of planning.
I give the address. Answer questions. Follow instructions while Lora's voice dissolves into static in my mind.
The moment I hang up, I call Xander. He answers on the first ring.
"Maya? What's—"
"Daphne's in labor. Her water broke. Ambulance is coming but you need to get home. Now."
"I'm twenty minutes away—"
"Drive faster." I end the call. Turn back to Daphne who's gripping the dresser like it's the only thing keeping her upright.
Another contraction tears through her. She cries out, doubling over. I move without thinking, catching her weight, supporting her as we sink to the floor together.
"I've got you." The words come automatically. "You're okay. Help is coming."
"It's too early." Her voice breaks. "She's not ready. I'm not ready. This wasn't supposed to—"
"Breathe." I position myself behind her, letting her lean back against me. "In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Just like you practiced."
I have no idea if she practiced. But she follows my lead anyway. Breathing through the contraction while I time it on my phone. Ninety seconds. Strong. Real. Not false labor this time.
When it passes, Daphne's head falls back against my shoulder. "I'm scared."
"I know." My hand finds hers. Squeezes. "But you're strong. You've been fighting for her for months. You can do this."
"What if—" She can't finish. Can't voice the fear that's been living in both our minds since that first ultrasound showed Hope's broken heart.
"Don't think about that." I keep my voice firm. "Just focus on breathing. On getting through each contraction. The rest will happen how it happens."
Another contraction hits before I finish speaking. Daphne grips my hand hard enough to hurt. Her nails dig into my skin. She makes a sound that's pain and terror mixed together.
"You're doing great." I stroke her hair with my free hand. "Almost done. Just breathe through it."
The contraction peaks and slowly releases. Daphne gasps for air like she's been drowning.
"Please don't leave me." The words come out desperate. Broken. "Maya, please. I can't do this alone."
"I'm not leaving." The promise falls from my lips before I can think about it. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
I anchor myself beside her on the nursery floor. Surrounded by tiny clothes folded with hope. By the crib we assembled together. By the mobile that plays lullabies for a daughter who's coming too soon.
The ambulance arrives in what my phone says is eight minutes but feels like hours. Sirens wailing.
Heavy boots on stairs. Paramedics with equipment and professional efficiency that makes me feel simultaneously relieved and useless.
They assess Daphne quickly. Ask questions I answer because she's too consumed by another contraction to speak. Contractions every three minutes now. Strong. Progressing fast.
"We need to move her." The lead paramedic—a woman with kind eyes and steady hands—gestures to the stretcher. "Can you help?"
I support Daphne's weight while they position her. She doesn't let go of my hand. Won't release the grip that's cutting off circulation to my fingers.
"I'm riding with her," I tell them. Not asking. Stating.
The paramedic nods. "Let's go."
The ambulance ride is surreal. Lights flashing. Siren screaming. Daphne breathing through contractions while I hold her hand and murmur encouragement that sounds more confident than I feel.
"You're okay. Almost there. Just keep breathing."
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Once. Twice. Three times. Probably the patron demanding updates.
Asking why I haven't acted. Why Daphne is getting medical attention instead of dying alone in a nursery.
I ignore it. Focus on Daphne. On timing contractions. On being the steady presence she needs when her world is tilting sideways.
The hospital emergency entrance appears. More people. More efficiency. Daphne transferred to a bed. Questions asked and answered. Me still holding her hand because she won't let go and I promised I wouldn't leave.
Then Xander appears. Running. Pale. Terrified. Barely coherent.
"Daphne—"
"I'm here." She reaches for him. "I'm okay. Hope's coming."
His hands replace mine. His voice becomes the one she needs. He leans over the bed, pressing his forehead to hers, murmuring things too quiet for me to hear.
A nurse touches my arm gently. "We need to take her to labor and delivery now."
I step back. Let them work. Watch as Daphne's bed gets wheeled toward doors marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
But before they disappear, Daphne looks back at me. Her face holds gratitude so complete it breaks something in my chest. Trust I don't deserve. Relief that I stayed.
"Thank you." Her voice carries over the chaos. "Thank you, Maya."
Then she's gone. Through doors I can't follow. Into a crisis I can't control. Fighting for a daughter whose survival was always a coin flip at best.
I stand in the hallway after they disappear. The adrenaline that's been carrying me crashes suddenly. My legs go weak. I have to lean against the wall to keep from collapsing.
My hands shake. My whole body trembles with aftershocks of the choice I just made. The choice I can't take back.
I saved her. Called for help. Stayed with her. Did everything I could to ensure Daphne and Hope both survive.
The exact opposite of what I came here to do.
I sink down the wall until I'm sitting on the floor. Knees pulled to my chest. Head in my hands.
I chose Daphne's life over revenge. Chose to save rather than destroy. Chose the person I've become over the person I was six years ago when I made that promise in a hospital room not so different from this one.
And standing—sitting—in this hospital hallway, hands still shaking, Lora's voice finally quiet, I can't regret it.
The patron will demand answers. Will want explanations for why their six-year investment ended with me calling 911 instead of letting nature take its course.
Archie will eventually learn the truth. Maybe not all of it, but enough to understand I'm not who he thinks I am. That the woman he loves is built on lies I can't sustain forever.
The mission is over. Failed. Abandoned. Whatever word fits best for giving up when success was within reach.
But Daphne is alive. Fighting for her daughter with doctors and monitors and everything modern medicine can provide. And I helped make that happen.
I sit on the hospital floor and let that be enough. For now, at least, it has to be enough.
Because it's the only choice I could live with. The only choice that lets me look at myself in the mirror.
The only choice that feels like moving forward instead of staying trapped in a grief that was killing me as surely as it killed Lora.
My phone buzzes again. I ignore it.
Somewhere beyond those doors, Hope is being born. Daphne is fighting. Xander is probably falling apart while trying to stay strong.
And I'm sitting on a hospital floor, having just chosen them over everything I've believed in for six years.