The hospital wing was quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioning and the rhythmic, synthetic beeping of monitors.It was a space designed for endings and beginnings, but for Mila, it felt like the center of the universe.She lay in room 412, her body arched in a silent, agonizing contraction that made the hospital bed feel like a raft in a stormy sea.Her breath came in ragged, practiced gasps.Beside her, Leo and Clara were huddled together on the pull-out sofa.Leo, at four years old, was staring at his mother with wide, solemn eyes, his small hand clutching a toy truck as if it were a talisman.Two-year-old Clara was asleep, her thumb tucked firmly into her mouth, completely unaware that the world was about to shift on its axis.Jax was a blur of motion, moving between the monitor and the bedside.He was adjusting the pillows, wiping Mila’s forehead, and murmuring reassurances that were more like prayers."The nurse said things are progressing fast, sunshine," Jax said, his vo
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