JanetThe tires screeched against the wet pavement as Daniel blew through a blinking amber light, his knuckles white against the steering wheel."Breathe, Janet. Just keep breathing," he rasped, his voice tight and shaking with a terror that mirrored my own.I couldn't answer. I sat reclined in the passenger seat, my eyes squeezed shut, both hands clawing at the fabric of my sweater as another wave of searing pressure gripped my entire abdomen. The muscles of my uterus felt like a band of cold iron tightening without mercy. At twenty-seven weeks, four babies could not survive without extraordinary, dangerous intervention.Not yet, my mind chanted like a frantic prayer. Please, God, not yet.The emergency bay doors of the regional medical center flew open, and within seconds, the world dissolved into a flurry of fluorescent lights, cold linoleum, and urgent, low-pitched medical voices. Hands lifted me from a wheelchair onto a triage gurney. A blood pressure cuff snapped around my bicep
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