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“I’ve got you,” Lucas says, kneeling beside them, his arms wrapping around them both, holding them like he’s trying to keep all three hearts in one beat. “We’re going now. We’re going right now.”

“I’ll get the car,” he says, standing—

“No.” My voice is sharper than I mean it to be, but firm. Certain. “I’ll get the car. You stay with them.”

He looks at me, eyes wild. Searching. Then nods, once. “Keys are in the dish,” he says. “Garage. Black SUV.”

“I know.”

And then I’m flying.

Down the stairs.

Through the kitchen.

Out the door.

The cold night air hits me like a slap. My breath fogs the air, my hands shake as I fumble for the keys. My pulse pounds in my ears so loud I can barely hear myself think. But I move. I throw the driver’s door open, start the engine, reverse fast and spin toward the front entrance just as the house door bursts open.

Lucas is carrying Joey now, Sam clinging beside him, barefoot, still in her soft pajama pants. Joey’s head lolls against his father’s chest, cheeks puffed, eyes fluttering in dazed, silent confusion.

I jump out and throw the back door open. “Go!” I shout, running to open the passenger door for Sam. “Get him in—get him buckled—”

Lucas climbs in with Joey still in his arms, settling him gently in the middle row as Sam climbs in beside them, buckling Joey’s limp frame in and bracing his head against her chest.

I slam the doors shut, jump into the front seat, and throw the car into gear.

Then we’re moving.

Fast.

Tires crunching down the gravel drive, headlights slicing through the dark.

No one says a word for the first few minutes. The only sound is the labored rhythm of Joey’s breathing and Sam’s whispered reassurances.

I grip the wheel tighter, blinking fast as tears threaten to fall—but I don’t let them. Not now. Because right now, I’m not the woman who was afraid of everything. I’m not the girl hiding in fear behind what-ifs. I’m a part of this family. And I will not let them fall apart tonight.

Not when everything’s riding on it.

The SUV screeches into the emergency bay, tires biting the pavement, headlights throwing harsh beams across the gleaming hospital doors. The second we stop, Lucas throws his door open and lifts Joey into his arms like he weighs nothing at all.

But I can see it—he does.

He weighs everything.

“Call Dr. Scott!” Lucas shouts as we rush through the sliding doors. His voice is hoarse, loud, but breaking beneath the surface. “He’s Joey’s primary!”

The receptionist at the desk doesn’t waste a second. One look at Joey’s swollen face and limp limbs, and she’s already reaching for the red phone on the wall.

“Code orange—child, age four, swelling and low responsiveness. Paging Dr. Scott to pediatrics intake. STAT.”

I’m right behind them, my pulse screaming in my neck, my heart lodged somewhere in my throat. Sam clutches Joey’s foot as Lucas carries him toward the corridor, her other hand pressed to her mouth like she’s holding in a scream.

A nurse opens the double doors to the ward just as we reach it. Dr. Scott is already there, coat flapping as he jogs down the corridor.

“Lucas,” he says, his face grim but focused. “Straight to Room B4. Let’s go.”

Lucas doesn’t hesitate. He disappears with Joey and Sam into the ward, the doors swinging closed behind them.