David was angry. Angry at you for harming yourself and the baby in your womb. He was angry at himself for not being more adamant. He had never been comfortable with you being pregnant in the military, and this only added to his list of ongoing concerns.

He couldn't believe his eyes when he saw the armored Humvee door—a four-hundred-pound door—swinging toward your direction. His heart dropped when he saw you collapse to the ground, unconscious. It had been a private, an E-1, who had accidentally hit you with the heavy door.

The doctor had told him that you might have a concussion, and that made him even angrier to hear. He was so worried about you.

"She's twenty-four weeks pregnant," David answered the doctor's question. He was deeply involved in the pregnancy. If he couldn't make it to an appointment, his younger brother Logan would go with you.

The doctor looked at you before turning back to David. "We need to keep her for twenty-four hours. We'll need to monitor both the baby and the mother to ensure everything stays stable."

David wasn’t shocked by that. He nodded to acknowledge it and sat back in the chair beside your bed.