The steady beep of the monitors filled the ICU room, too quiet, too slow. Gabby lay in the hospital bed, her face pale, her eyes heavy with exhaustion and grief. The weight of everything hung in the air—what she’d lost, what she was still trying to process.

You sat beside her, one hand resting near hers, close but not quite touching. You’d seen her go through hell before, but this… this was different.

“I keep thinking I’ll wake up and still be pregnant,” Gabby murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “That this was all some messed-up dream.”

You swallowed hard, searching for the right words. “You don’t have to rush through this, Gabby. You can take your time.”

She gave a weak, humorless laugh. “Time? Feels like it’s dragging, and I’m just… stuck in it.”

Before you could answer, the slow beeping from the monitor stuttered—then picked up, racing. Gabby tensed, eyes fluttering, her breaths suddenly coming in short, gasping bursts.

“Gabby?” You sat up straighter, watching as her body trembled. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Then—flatline.

The alarm blared, shrill and unforgiving.

“Code blue, ICU!”

Before you could even think, doctors and nurses flooded the room, pushing you back as they worked. Hands pressed to Gabby’s chest, shouting orders. You knew what came next. You’d seen it before—you’d done it before.

But this was Gabby.

Your best friend.

Your heart pounded as you stood frozen, helpless, watching as they tried to bring her back.

They rush her into surgery, incubating her, she was bleeding out again. You watch Matt follow them: almost crying.