"No—" I screamed and clawed at the hospital sheet. The light above me snapped like a judge's gavel. Machines beeped. My fingers found a place on Gideon Clement's suit sleeve instead of the hand I wanted. "Delilah," he said in a voice that had learned to stay smooth. "Calm down." "Where is she?" I pushed words out between dry lips. "Where is Mom?" Gideon swallowed. The skin at his temple moved once. "Ethel didn't make it through surgery." The room tightened around those six words. Nurses moved like choreographed shadows. A doctor mouthed something about complications and loss and did not meet my eyes. "Complications?" I said. My grip dug into his sleeve until the fabric stung my palm. "What about the baby?" Gideon looked at the floor before he said it. "They couldn't—save the fetus." The world narrowed to the shape of those losses. My body wanted to drop. My mouth wanted to scream their names. Instead I laughed once, a hard sound. "So you tell me it was an accident." He let out a small sound that might have been guilt or might have been something worse. "There were no signs of foul play. The board's counsel and the hospital—" "Signs?" I cut him off. "Gideon, you promised—Ethel trusted you." He straightened. "She trusted me with her investments. She trusted me to introduce her to the best surgeons. I'm not responsible for all outcomes." "You're not responsible." The words