Tom's POV
I tore through the city streets like my life depended on it, leaning on the horn as if the noise alone could clear every obstacle in my path. Each sluggish vehicle ahead of me felt like a deliberate challenge, every crimson traffic signal an adversary I needed to defeat. My gaze darted frantically between the asphalt and the digital clock on my dashboard. Every passing second fed the fire of my rage.
Move. Just move already.
The medical center sat mere minutes ahead, yet it seemed like the entire metropolis had conspired against my urgency. My thoughts raced faster than my engine, consumed with images of Delia and above all else, our unborn child. What if disaster had struck? What if her brief message was merely the calm preceding devastation?
