At first, he thought she was just overwheld. Her lashes fluttered, her breathing quickened, and she leaned forward like she needed a mont to absorb what he’d said. He loosened one hand, about to brush her hair from her face, when she whispered his na again, thin, strained, wrong. The sound of it vibrated through him, cutting through the night air sharper than anything she had said before, as if her voice had frayed at the edges and he was just now hearing it tear.
For a split second he told himself she was only shaken. Anyone would be after a conversation like this. He had just asked her to tear her life in half and rebuild it with him. Of course she needed a mont. Of course she needed to breathe.
But sothing in the sound of her voice refused that explanation.
"Zane..."
Her voice wavered like a thread about to snap, fragile and unsteady, as though shaped by breath she no longer had the strength to hold. Sothing in her tone made him straighten slightly, his body tilting toward her, because it didn’t sound like the Willow who spent her days holding entire worlds together. It sounded like soone slipping.
Then she pushed her hands against the bench, trying to stand, and there was sothing off about the movent, too fast, too forced, her weight shifting wrong. Her palms splayed hard on the wooden slats as if she had to anchor herself, not because she was nervous, but because she needed leverage just to rise. He rose with her instantly, instinct snapping faster than thought.
For a fraction of a second he thought she was simply dizzy. People stood too quickly all the ti. It happened. The human body was fragile in small ways that ant nothing.
But the tension in her shoulders told a different story.
"Hey, wait, slowly," he said, rising with her, ready to steady her waist if she wobbled. "Willow—"
Her breath stuttered, but before he could reach for her, her knees straightened, the jacket slid off her lap, and his coat dropped onto the grass with a muted thud that should have been insignificant. Instead, it felt like the ground had opened beneath him, because the mont her legs fully straightened, a dark bloom began to spread across the white fabric of her trousers, growing in a slow, horrifying expansion that punched the air out of his lungs.
For a mont his mind refused to process what he was seeing. The color was wrong, too dark and too sudden against the pale fabric, spreading in a way that made no sense. His brain scrambled for another explanation, grasping at possibilities that dissolved the mont they ford. Wine. Dirt. A shadow cast by the streetlight. Anything that would make the image less terrifying than what his instincts already knew it was. But the stain continued to spread, slow and undeniable, and the truth pressed in with crushing certainty. In that instant everything inside him seed to stop.
For a second he didn’t breathe. Not because he was confused or uncertain, but because deep, primal instinct coiled inside him and told him exactly what he was seeing. His brain rejected it even as his eyes locked onto the spreading red, the color too stark, too wrong, too terrifying against the pale fabric. The world narrowed to a single point of color, that awful blooming stain, and he didn’t realize he had stepped closer until his knees brushed hers.
The park around them seed to go strangely quiet. A car passed sowhere down the street, headlights sweeping briefly across the grass before disappearing again. The city continued moving as if nothing had changed, as if the ground beneath his feet had not just dropped away.
"Willow?" His voice cracked. "Willow, look at ."
She didn’t hear him, or if she did, the sound couldn’t reach wherever her mind had gone. A deep, wrenching contraction curled her forward so abruptly it looked like her entire torso had been punched from the inside. Her hands flew to her belly with a desperate, protective urgency as her body folded in on itself, her breath tearing out in a soft, broken gasp that shattered him. Her knees buckled under the force of the pain, her legs trembling violently as though her body had suddenly forgotten how to hold her weight.
Her fingers clutched her abdon with fierce instinct, the kind of reflex that ca from protecting sothing more important than herself.
"Ah..." she choked out, her hand clutched at her stomach, fingers digging into her coat as her eyes unfocused. Her face went paper white, lips drained, eyes wide but unseeing. The streetlight above them flickered, casting her in a weak halo that made her look even more ghostlike, the shadows around her deepening while her body swayed.
"Willow!" he shouted, catching at her elbow, but even with his grip, she was already listing sideways, her pupils blown wide and glassy as if the world had begun to recede from her. Her head lolled for a second, her chin dropping before she snapped it up again with visible struggle. A thin, sharp breath rasped through her teeth and another contraction slamd into her, so strong it visibly wrung her body, tightening her abdon and bowing her spine.
It was not a tight squeeze or a brief mont of discomfort the way he had heard people casually describe contractions before. What moved through her body was sothing far more violent and consuming. The pain rose like a powerful wave that seized her from the inside, wringing her entire body as if an invisible fist had closed around her center and twisted. Every muscle reacted to it. The tendons in her neck stood out sharply as her head bowed forward, and her shoulders curled inward with a protective instinct she could not control. Her whole posture folded around the life inside her, as though her body was trying to shield the child even while the force of the contraction pulled her apart.
Her legs buckled again, deeper this ti, almost folding beneath her. Her right hand slipped from his grasp, fingers reaching out for sothing, anything, to hold onto, to anchor herself, but there was nothing in the air around her except cold wind and the faint glow of passing headlights. Her hand closed on empty space, her breath faltering as panic flickered across her face for a single, fleeting heartbeat.
She didn’t find anything to steady herself.
"I... can’t..." she whispered, her voice breaking, barely sound at all. "Zane..."
He stepped closer, reaching, but her vision flickered violently in that mont, her pupils dulling before her body sagged. The world seed to tilt with her as her knees finally gave out, and he barely had half a second to react before she fainted mid breath, her body collapsing toward the pavent in a slow, terrifying spill.
He lunged forward and caught her before she hit the ground, his arms wrapping around her upper body, lifting half her weight against his chest with a desperation that bordered on instinctual. Her head fell against his shoulder, limp, her hair cold and soft against his throat. He crouched with her, lowering them both as gently as he could onto the grass beside the bench, the panic in his chest rising like a living thing clawing to escape.
Her weight felt heavier than it should have. Not because she was large, but because she was no longer holding herself upright. Every muscle had gone slack in his arms.
"Willow. Willow. HEY!" he said, shaking her lightly, gently, careful not to hurt her but unable to stop the urgency in his movents. "Open your eyes. Willow, look at . Please... please..." His voice trembled, and he didn’t care.
She didn’t respond. Her lashes swept unmoving against her cheeks, her skin chilling rapidly under his touch. He pressed his fingers to her cheek and then her neck, feeling her pulse flutter weakly, erratic, barely there beneath the clammy surface of her skin. Her breathing was too shallow, too ragged, as if she were pulling air through tight, narrow spaces that refused to expand. Her chest rose in small, uneven movents that terrified him more than if it had stopped entirely.
And the red stain on her trousers was widening, seeping into the grass beneath them, darkening the soil with a slow, dreadful consistency that made his stomach lurch.
Without thinking his hand slid to her abdon, hovering there for a brief, suspended second as if he feared that touching her might sohow make the situation worse. Instinct warred with hesitation in that mont, his mind racing through fragnts of panic while his body searched for sothing useful to do. Then instinct won. His palm settled gently against her stomach, the contact careful yet desperate, as though the simple pressure of his hand could sohow hold everything together.
Beneath his palm he felt the tightening of another contraction beginning, the muscles of her abdon hardening suddenly under his touch. The force of it shocked him. The tension rolled through her body in a powerful wave that felt far stronger than anything he had expected, tightening and releasing with a frightening intensity that made his breath hitch in his throat. His heart slamd violently against his ribs as a cold surge of fear flooded through him with brutal clarity, the realization crashing into him all at once that sothing was terribly, terribly wrong.
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