I Nearly Died Pregnant When He Hung around with His First Love

The emergency siren cut through the afternoon air like a blade, its wailing cry sending ice through my veins. My hand instinctively moved to my rounded belly—six months along now, the baby restless inside me as if sensing the danger.

"All non-combatants to evacuation stations immediately!" The pack-wide mind-link crackled with urgent commands from the border patrol. "Unknown hostiles approaching from the eastern ridge!"

I was already moving, my Luna training kicking in despite the awkward weight of pregnancy. The orphanage—I had to get to the orphanage first. Those children had no parents to protect them, no one but the pack's Luna to ensure their safety.

The old Victorian building stood three stories tall, its once-grand facade now weathered and worn. I'd submitted repair requests for this place seventeen times in the past two years. Seventeen times Joshua had dismissed them as "unnecessary expenses" while approving Natalie's latest shopping spree for designer handbags.

The front door burst open as I approached, and a flood of frightened children poured out under the guidance of Mrs. Henderson, the elderly caretaker.

"Luna Vanessa!" Seven-year-old Emma broke from the group, her dark curls bouncing as she ran toward me. "I'm scared! What's happening?"

I knelt as best I could with my belly, taking her small hands in mine. "It's going to be okay, sweetheart. We're just being extra careful. Stay close to Mrs. Henderson, alright?"

The sound of splintering wood made us both turn. On the second-floor landing, visible through the large windows, I could see more children descending the main staircase. But something was wrong—terribly wrong.

The wooden banister, rotted from years of neglect, was sagging under the weight of little hands gripping it for support. I watched in horror as six-year-old Marcus, bringing up the rear of the group, leaned heavily against the railing.

The ancient wood gave way with a sickening crack.

Marcus's scream pierced the air as his small body pitched sideways, tumbling toward the gap where the railing had been. Below him, thirty feet down, lay the concrete entrance steps—unforgiving stone that would shatter his fragile bones on impact.

Time slowed to a crawl. Every instinct in my body screamed danger—for me, for my unborn child. But Marcus was falling, his terrified face a mask of pure terror as gravity claimed him.

I didn't think. I couldn't think.

I lunged forward, my pregnant body moving with desperate speed despite its limitations. My hands caught Marcus's shirt just as he cleared the broken railing, and I hauled him back with every ounce of strength I possessed, throwing him toward the safety of the landing.

But physics is a cruel mistress. The momentum of his fall combined with my desperate lunge sent me careening forward, my center of gravity completely destroyed by my rounded belly. The world tilted sickeningly as I pitched over the edge where the railing should have been.

The fall felt endless—a nightmare of tumbling limbs and desperate, futile attempts to protect my stomach. I hit the stairs