ELENA’S POV Pain hit first… it was sharp, and hot, blooming across my lower ribs like someone had driven a hot poker straight through me. My eyelids felt glued shut, I tried to swallow and tasted copper on my tongue. The steady beep-beep-beep of a machine drilled into my skull. This was a hospital. I was in a hospital. My hands moved on instinct, sliding down, as if I was searching, because I was searching. My stomach was flat, there wasn’t a bump yet, but the life inside was still there, I just needed to feel it, I needed proof it hadn’t been ripped away with the bullet. My fingers trembled as they pressed against the thin hospital gown. There was nothing, just skin and the faint ridge of bandages beneath. Terror clawed up my throat so fast I almost choked on it. I forced my eyes open. White ceiling, dim light filtering through half-closed blinds, were the first things I saw. The room smelled of antiseptic and wilted flowers. My wedding dress—God, my wedding dress—was gone. Rep
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