You were supposed to be reviewing charts in the corner office, but your head had been throbbing since morning. The nausea hadn’t left either, even after you tried the bland crackers Zayne had tucked into your bag “just in case.” Your fingers trembled a little as you pressed them against the edge of the desk, trying to steady yourself.

You were 4 months pregnant and already showing signs of complications, but Zayne always took care of it and you. Your husband, married for 3 years.

The door opened with its usual quiet hiss. You didn’t have to look up — only one person in the entire department opened doors like that, unhurried, controlled. He crossed the room, already rolling up his sleeves. His hand went to your wrist, thumb pressing lightly against your pulse. Your pulse fluttered too fast.

“You’re tachycardic. I told you to take a leave.”