She had barely reached the landing when a tearing pain ripped through her lower abdomen. Days of medication had hollowed her body to nothing. Her strength gave out, and darkness swallowed her vision whole.
Ivor watched her swaying figure and felt a sudden, inexplicable surge of panic. He was about to step forward when Nellie went limp in his arms, her eyes fluttering shut as she slid downward.
"Nellie! Doctor! Get a doctor, now!"
He snapped his gaze back, swept her up in his arms, and rushed for the door.
Behind him, Jocelyn tumbled down the staircase. Blood seeped from beneath her, spreading across the floor in a widening stain.
No one looked back.
The acrid bite of disinfectant clawed its way into her nostrils. Jocelyn was about to open her eyes when she heard Ivor's voice, laced with concern.
"Doctor, how is she doing? She's not in any danger, is she?"
Before the doctor could answer, Ivor pressed on. "Skip the medical jargon. Just tell me—is the baby all right?"
Jocelyn's heart plunged into ice. She forced her head up.
"Get out. Get the hell out!"
Ivor turned to her, wearing that familiar mask of tenderness. "You're awake? How are you feeling? Does anything hurt?"
He reached out to touch her forehead, but she jerked her head away.
His hand froze in midair. Something unreadable flickered behind his eyes.
"Jocelyn..."
"I said get out."
He withdrew his hand and sat on the edge of the bed, a thin veneer of pity settling over his features.
"Since you already know everything, let's stop pretending. Let's lay our cards on the table."
"You cut ties with the Henson family years ago. Without me, who's going to protect you?"
"I'll let yesterday slide. But from now on, you don't touch her."
"As for the baby—consider it my way of making things right with her. But the child will only ever call you Mom. That should satisfy you."
Jocelyn opened her eyes fully. Her voice was flat, almost serene.
"Are you done? Then get out."
Ivor's expression darkened.
"I'd advise you to know your place, Jocelyn. You know exactly how many women would kill to be Mrs. Sanchez. Keep pushing me, and—"
Jocelyn said nothing.
He stared at her ashen face, and whatever threat he'd been building died on his tongue. He left it at "Rest up," then turned and walked out of the room.
The moment he was gone, Jocelyn had someone dig up every last skeleton in Nellie Harding's closet.