Brad shook his head, anxiety written all over his face.
"I don't know. She's been complaining about chest pain the last few days, so I took her in for a checkup today. The doctor said it's serious. They need to operate right away."
"And after the surgery, she'll need at least two months of rest to recover."
Two months.
Exactly long enough to see a woman through delivery and postpartum recovery.
Something cold settled in my stomach, but I pressed on, keeping my voice light.
"I know one of the best cardiologists abroad. Why don't I reach out for you?"
Brad waved his hands frantically. "No, no, that's not necessary."
He seemed to realize how abrupt that sounded, because he caught himself immediately. He took my hands in his, guilt flooding his face.
"Babe, this is the most critical part of your recovery. Mom and I won't even be here to take care of you, and I already feel terrible about that." His voice cracked. "How could I ask you to worry about this on top of everything else?"
His eyes were rimmed with red as he spoke.
Like his heart was breaking for me.
But my gaze had drifted down and locked onto his hand.
There, on the web between his right thumb and forefinger, was a scar.