Eight Months Pregnant: Living as the Police Chief's Secret

"Eight months into my pregnancy, my husband finally makes time from his police duties to go to a prenatal checkup with me for the first time.The moment we step into the hospital, his satellite-encrypted phone buzzes urgently. The caller ID flashes briefly, and just like that, the man who's always calm and collected panics."Honey, it's a red alert. Another international fugitive just crossed the border. I… I'm sorry…" He's clearly anxious, yet his tone is firm, leaving no room for argument. After apologizing, he rushes off.As I watch his SUV speed out of sight, my fist clenches tightly, crumpling the prenatal checkup sheet. I flag down a cab, slide into the car, and swiftly instruct the driver, "Follow that car. Don't lose it."A Red Notice for a fugitive? What a joke.My father, who works at the National Security Agency, barely catches wind of a notice like that. Yet, somehow, a mere police chief who only assists with cases is suddenly tasked with catching a high-priority criminal.Fine, then. I can't wait to meet the superior who's given him such an urgent assignment."