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THEN:

The afternoon lightspilled like molten gold through the half-open blinds, casting long, lazy shadows across Victoria”s bedroom. Sarah stood in the doorway, her silhouette elongated on the pastel carpet, watching her daughter”s chest rise and fall as she napped. The room was a sanctuary of soft pinks and stuffed animals, each chosen with love to create a haven for their little girl.

”Sweet dreams, my angel,” Sarah whispered, tiptoeing closer to plant a tender kiss on Victoria”s forehead. But as she drew near, her maternal instincts prickled with unease. Victoria”s cheeks had a pallor that didn”t belong amidst the rosy décor, a stillness too pronounced for the gentle flutter of slumber.

”Steven!” Her voice cut through the calm, sharp with fear. Footsteps thudded against the hardwood floor, growing louder as her husband approached from downstairs, where they had been watching TV.

”What”s wrong?” Steven”s words were breathless, tinged with the edge of his profession. His eyes, trained to notice the slightest aberration, immediately caught the worry lines etching Sarah”s brow.

”Look at her, Steven. She”s… she”s too quiet.”

Sarah”s fingers trembled as she pointed, her heart pounding a fierce rhythm against her ribs.

Steven knelt beside the bed, his nurse”s hands deft and sure as he checked Victoria”s pulse, his eyes scanning for signs only he could read.

”This isn”t right,” he murmured, more to himself than to Sarah. His touch was clinical yet caring, a paradox honed by countless hours in sterile hospital corridors.

”Is she…” Sarah couldn”t finish the sentence, couldn”t give voice to the terror that clawed at her throat.

Please, let her be okay.

”We need to get her to the hospital right now.”

Steven”s voice was a command, brooking no argument, but the undercurrent of urgency propelled Sarah into action.

As if in a dream, she watched herself gather Victoria into her arms—so tiny and fragile, a doll broken by an unseen hand. Her mind raced, thoughts disjointed and wild. This wasn”t supposed to happen—not to them—not to their little girl who loved butterfly kisses and bedtime stories.

”Call 9-1-1 or drive ourselves?” Steven”s question was weighty, speaking of life-altering decisions made in heartbeats.

”Drive. It”ll be faster.”

Sarah”s decision was instinctual, the protective lioness within her rising. Every second mattered, every moment a precious commodity they couldn”t afford to squander.

”Let”s go.” Steven”s hand was on her back, guiding her even as she clutched Victoria closer. They moved together, a unit bound by shared purpose and unspoken vows; their world contracted to the tiny heartbeat between them.

As they hurried to the car, Sarah dared not look back at the home that was supposed to be a fortress against the world. She could only hope and pray that they weren”t already too late.