Lydia POV
I hurried toward the midwife's house, my skirts brushing against the dew-kissed grass under the fading moonlight. The air carried a mix of herbal scents and cool air, filled with blood, Jethro was already there, standing outside with his arms folded, his face set in that unreadable mask he wore when things weren't going his way. Maribel approached him quietly, bowing low, her hands clasped in front of her.
"What is it?" I asked, glancing between them. Maribel looked pale, even for her.
"My lord," she said softly, her voice trembling just a bit. "Sarah has given birth, but... she died."
Jethro's eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked genuinely shocked, like the ground had shifted under him. "What did you just say?"
"We lost her," Maribel repeated, keeping her head down.
Anger flashed across Jethro's face, twisting his features. "Call the midwives out for me right now!" he barked, his voice echoing into the night.
