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At the VIP clinic, I was helping my nine-month pregnant daughter change for her final ultrasound. The moment her shirt slipped off, I felt my breath catch in my throat.

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“No, Julian,” I said, my voice steady and absolute. “I am a mother.”

Agent Vance rose, pulling Julian up to his knees, and handed me a thick folded document. “Mrs. Brooks, the emergency protective order is now active. Your daughter is being transferred immediately via private ambulance to a secure surgical team at Mercy General. Dr. Thorne has been continue reading …

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