Nathan Pierce didn't hang up.

Amara opened her eyes to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor.

Panic struck her instantly. She bolted upright, pulling against the IV lines attached to her hand.

"Kira! Caden!" she gasped, her voice cracked and dry.

"Easy," a deep, calm voice spoke from the corner armchair. "They're right here."

Amara whipped her head around.

In the corner of the small hospital room sat a tall, strikingly handsome man in a tailored dark suit. Sleeping soundly on a cot set up beside his chair were Kira and Caden, tucked under soft hospital blankets with two brand-new plush toys resting beside them.

"Who... who are you?" Amara stammered, pulling the hospital gown defensively around her chest. "Where am I? What happened to my babies?"

"You collapsed in your kitchen, Ms. Johnson," Nathan said gently, standing up and pouring a glass of water from the bedside pitcher. He walked over and handed it to her. "Your daughter dialed a misdialed number on your cordless phone. She reached my office."

Amara stared at the glass of water, her mind racing, memories returning in terrible, disjointed flashes—the dizzy spell, the floor rushing up to meet her, the absolute darkness.

"Oh god," she wept, burying her face in her trembling hands. "Oh god, I failed them. I couldn't even buy food."

"You didn't fail anyone," Nathan said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You fought until your body literally shut down. That isn't failure, Ms. Johnson. That's love."

Amara looked up through her tears. "I can't afford a hospital stay. I have to go to work. If I miss my morning shift at the store, they'll fire me, and if I lose my job—"

"Your manager has already been notified that you are on medical leave," Nathan interrupted smoothly. "Your rent for the next six months has been paid. And your hospital bill has been cleared."

Amara froze, staring at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. "What? Who... why would you do that?"