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.”
The officers hesitated. Brenda opened her mouth as if to defend herself, but Marcus didn’t give her the chance. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
“My wife called me crying,” he said, his tone steely. “I left a board meeting with the hospital’s trustees to come here. I’m a senior partner at Whitmore & Laurent Law. If this is how you treat patients—especially expectant mothers—we have a serious problem.”
