My love.
Jerry didn’t waste time. He pressed it.
The phone rang once, twice, three times.
Then a deep male voice answered, sharp and worried.
“Hello, Elelliana.”
Jerry’s throat tightened.
“Sir,” Jerry said quickly, voice urgent, “I’m not Elelliana. Please listen. Your wife is in critical condition. She fell in front of a supermarket and went into labor. I rushed her to Lagos Medical Center. Please come now.”
Silence on the line felt heavy.
Then the man’s voice changed—suddenly cold and dangerous.
“What did you say?” he asked slowly.
Jerry’s heart pounded. “I said she is at Lagos Medical Center,” Jerry repeated. “Please hurry. The doctor said both mother and baby are at risk.”
The call ended immediately.
Jerry stared at the phone. His palms were sweating.
Then he heard it.
Outside the hospital, tires screeched. Not one car. Not two.
Many.
A convoy.
Jerry rushed toward the entrance and looked through the glass doors.
