The room went silent. A few patients exchanged nervous glances. Isabelle’s stomach twisted—part pain, part terror. The idea of being treated like a criminal while carrying her child left her shaking. She felt invisible, powerless, as though the very place that should protect her was determined to humiliate her.

By the time two uniformed officers stepped through the sliding glass doors, Isabelle’s tears had blurred her vision. Her breaths came in shallow bursts.

And then—another figure entered.

A tall man in a tailored charcoal suit, striding with purpose, eyes scanning the room like a hawk. His presence seemed to shift the air itself.

It was her husband, Marcus Laurent.

“What’s happening here?” he asked, his voice calm yet commanding.

One officer turned. “Sir, are you her husband?”

“Yes,” Marcus replied firmly, moving swiftly to Isabelle’s side. He placed a protective arm around her shoulders. “And I want to know why my pregnant wife is in tears with police officers in front of her instead of being examined.”