My 6-year-old granddaughter phoned me in panic just after midnight. “Mommy says the baby is coming! Help!” I asked, “Where’s daddy?” She answered, “He k!cked mommy’s tummy and left.”…..

May 18, 2026May 16, 2026 by marouan

Harry looked up and saw Deputy Brock Timmons approaching, uniform wrinkled, badge reflecting the hospital lights. Harry knew his reputation, and in small towns reputation mattered more than paperwork. Lazy. Crooked. Too friendly with men who needed cops to look the other way. One of Trent Huxley’s drinking buddies.

“Mr. Kane,” Timmons said with a nod. “Heard there was some kind of domestic incident tonight.”

Harry became completely still.

EMTs were wheeling a stretcher toward the open front door. Harry parked sideways across the lawn, and joged toward the house. “Sir, you can’t.” One of the EMTs started. “That’s my daughter.” Harry cut him off. The man stepped aside. Cassidy lay on a stretcher, conscious but gray-faced. Her night gown was stained dark around the middle.

An oxygen mask covered half her face. When she saw Harry, her eyes filled with tears. Dad, she whispered through the mask. I’m here. Harry grabbed her hand. Her fingers felt like ice. Lydia called me. The EMT working on her four looked up. Are you the father? I am. We need to get her to Boseman General immediately. Severe abdominal trauma, possible placental abruption.

The baby’s in distress. Harry nodded. He understood trauma. He’d seen enough of it on the rigs when safety protocols failed and men got careless. The difference was those were accidents. This was something else entirely. Lydia, Cassidy whispered. Harry looked around and found his granddaughter huddled on the couch, still in her princess pajamas, clutching a stuffed elephant.

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