The ER doors burst open with a sharp bang, cold air rushing in alongside the familiar squeak of gurney wheels. A couple of EMTs guide it in with practiced ease—but the woman on top of it is anything but cooperative.

You.

Very pregnant. Very annoyed.

Your arms are crossed tightly over your chest, blanket bunched beneath your fingers like it personally offended you. Your glare could probably stop a heart monitor.

“I told you, I’m fine,” you snap, shooting a look at one of the EMTs. “It was a fender bender, not a catastrophic event.”

“Protocol,” one of them replies for the third time, trying—and failing—not to smile. “You know how it is.”

“Oh, I know exactly how it is,” you mutter. “You all just like bossing me around when I can’t outrun you.”

That earns a quiet chuckle from a nearby nurse—quickly stifled when she realizes you’re already looking her way.

“Hey,” comes a familiar voice, warm but steady.

Nurse Evans appears at your side, slipping effortlessly into step with the gurney as it rolls deeper into the ER. She gives you a once-over, eyes sharp but kind.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite stubborn patient.”

You huff, but there’s the faintest twitch at the corner of your lips. “Don’t start, Evans.”

“What happened?” she asks, already checking your pulse, her tone shifting into clinical focus.

“Someone tapped my bumper at a red light,” you say. “Barely a kiss. Didn’t even leave a dent worth crying over.”

“And yet here you are.”

“Against my will,” you emphasize.

Evans hums, clearly unconvinced. “Any pain? Cramping? Dizziness?”

“No. No. And no,” you answer, sharper this time. Then, softer—almost grudgingly—“Baby’s been kicking like normal.”

That gives her pause. She nods once, thoughtful.

“Good. We’re still going to check everything out.”

You groan, tipping your head back against the pillow. “Of course we are.”

The gurney finally slows to a stop in a familiar bay. The curtain gets pulled halfway around, not quite giving you privacy—but enough to make it feel less like you’re on display.

Evans rests a hand lightly on the railing, leaning in just a bit. “You know he’s going to lose his mind when he hears about this, right?”

Your eyes flick toward her, narrowing.

“He does not need to be called.”

That pause is all the answer you need.

Your expression drops into disbelief. “Evans.”

“I didn’t say anything,” she replies, far too innocent.

“You didn’t have to—someone already did, didn’t they?”

Before she can answer, the unmistakable sound of hurried footsteps echoes down the hall. Fast. Purposeful. Familiar.

You close your eyes for a brief second, exhaling slowly through your nose.

“…I swear to God.”

Evans pats your arm, clearly trying not to smile now. “On the bright side,” she murmurs, “you won’t have to walk out of here.”

Your eyes snap open just as the curtain jerks aside—

—and there he is.

Robby.

Slightly out of breath. Eyes scanning you from head to toe in an instant, tension written into every line of his body.

And just like that, the entire room shifts.

Because now?

You’re not just a stubborn patient anymore.

You’re his wife on a hospital bed.

And he looks about two seconds away from flipping the entire ER upside down to make sure you’re okay.