Chris’s thumbs were warm and steady against the arches of your feet, slow circles that made the ache in your calves finally ease. You were stretched out on the bed, pillows stacked behind your back to support the curve of your belly, one hand resting there without thinking—protective, instinctive. Five months along and already you felt like your body belonged to someone else half the time.

“You’re gonna spoil me,” you murmured, eyes half-closed.

Chris huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s literally my job,” she said softly. Her voice was lower when she was tired, roughened by a long shift. She’d only just showered, hair still damp, gray T-shirt clinging to her shoulders. Home Chris. Your favorite version.

You watched her for a second, heart doing that stupid, full thing it always did. It still amazed you sometimes—how she’d walked into your life and stitched you back together without even realizing you were falling apart. LA had been loud, crowded, full of kids and laughter during the day… and unbearably silent at night. Until her.

Then—

Crash.

Glass. Sharp and unmistakable.

Your eyes snapped open as adrenaline flooded your chest. “Chris—”

She was already moving.

In one smooth motion, she was off the bed, crossing to the nightstand safe. The sound of the keypad was soft but rapid. Calm. Controlled. The way she always was when it mattered.

“Hey,” she said quietly, coming back to you immediately instead of heading for the door. She knelt in front of you, one hand firm on your knee, the other holding the gun low and close to her body. “Stay right here. Don’t move. Don’t panic.”

Your heart was hammering, but her eyes—steady, focused, locked on yours—anchored you.

“Bedroom door stays closed,” she continued, already shifting into SWAT mode. “If anything happens, you get in the bathroom, lock it, and call 911. Okay?”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Okay.”

She leaned in, pressed her forehead to yours for just a second. “I love you. Both of you.”

Then she was gone.

You heard her footsteps disappear down the hallway, light and silent despite her size. The house felt too big suddenly, every shadow stretching. You grabbed your phone with shaking fingers, hovering over the screen, listening.

Voices downstairs. Low. Rushed. Male.

Drawers opening. Another crash.

Your stomach tightened, instinct screaming to curl around your baby. You slid off the bed carefully, just like she told you not to—but fear overrode logic. You locked the bedroom door, backed into the bathroom, and sat on the floor behind the tub, phone clutched to your chest.

Then—

“Police! Don’t move!”

Chris’s voice was thunder. Commanding. Unmistakable.

A shout. Footsteps. Someone ran.

A gunshot cracked through the house—deafening, final. You screamed despite yourself, hands flying to your belly, tears spilling as you tried to breathe.

Then another voice. Chris again. Sharper now. “On the ground! Now! Hands where I can see them!”

Sirens wailed in the distance. Someone must’ve tripped the alarm when they came in. Thank God.

Minutes stretched like hours before footsteps came back upstairs. The knock on the door was gentle.

“Baby,” Chris called. “It’s me. You’re safe.”

You unlocked the door and she was there instantly, pulling you into her arms, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other spread protectively over your belly. You could feel her heart racing just as hard as yours.

“They’re in custody,” she murmured into your hair. “Both of them. Nobody’s hurt.”

Your knees gave out and she caught you easily, lowering you onto the bed and climbing on beside you, wrapping herself around you like a shield.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered through tears. “I froze.”

“Hey.” She tipped your chin up, eyes fierce and soft all at once. “You did exactly what you were supposed to do. You kept our baby safe.”

She kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your trembling hands. Only then did you notice the faint smear of blood on her sleeve—not hers.

“They picked the wrong house,” she said quietly, brushing your hair back. “And they don’t get a second chance.”