The old barn lights buzzed while Dr. Okafor set up the ultrasound. Rain hit the roof so hard the horses in the next aisle shifted and snorted. Daphne held Willow’s lead rope and kept her voice low. “Stay with us, girl. You’re all right.”
Willow shivered as the probe touched her flank. The screen glowed blue-white in the dim stall. Daphne saw lines, shadows, and movement she could not read. Dr. Okafor moved the probe slowly. His jaw tightened. Then the machine caught a faint rhythm. It was not Willow’s pulse. It was not the colt breathing in the straw. It was smaller, faster, and weaker.
Daphne’s hand went cold around the rope. “What is that?” The farmhand stepped back. Dr. Okafor adjusted the angle, listened again, and did not take his eyes off the screen. “There’s another heartbeat,” he said. Daphne looked from the colt to Willow’s belly. “Another foal?” “Yes,” he said. “A twin. Smaller, and not positioned well.” Willow pushed again. Daphne suddenly understood—twin births were rare and risky for mares. The vet closed the case, and no one in the stall breathed normally anymore. “That foal is running out of time…We need to move fast.”