“We’re sorry, Mr. Lambert,” he said. “Miss Savanah didn’t make it through the night. She was seven weeks pregnant with your child and suffering from stage four brain cancer...”

Zeus didn’t speak. He was frozen on his seat.

“She left behind an organ donor directive. We’ve already begun the process. Her wishes were clear.”

Inside the envelope: my death certificate. A forged consent form. And a cold, clinical goodbye.