Chapter 2
The room went quiet.
The nurse holding my baby stopped mid-step.
"Dr. Wright?" she said, her voice uncertain.
He didn't answer.
He just stared at my son.
His chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid breaths. Like he was drowning in a memory only he could see.
I pushed myself up on one elbow, fear coiling in my stomach.
"Is something wrong?" I asked. "With my baby?"
That question seemed to snap him out of it.
He blinked hard, swiping at his tears with the back of his hand. He took a step toward the bassinet, then another, moving like his legs might give out beneath him.
"No," he said, his voice thick and broken. "There's nothing wrong with him. He's… he's beautiful."
He reached out, then pulled his hand back as if burned.
He looked at me then.
Really looked at me.
And I saw recognition in his eyes.
Not of me. I'd never met this man before in my life.
But recognition of something.
"You're Joanna," he said. It wasn't a question.
I nodded slowly. "How do you know my name?"
"The chart," he said, but his voice wasn't convincing. His gaze flicked back to the baby. "And… your last name. You didn't take his."
My blood turned cold.
"His?"
He closed his eyes for a moment, like he was gathering courage.
When he opened them, they were filled with a sorrow so deep it made my own pain feel small.
"Logan," he said quietly. "Logan Wright is my son."
The air left the room.
I stared at him.
Same eyes.
Same shape to the jaw.
I'd been so focused on my baby, on my own fear, that I hadn't seen it until now.
"He never mentioned you," I said. My voice sounded hollow even to my own ears.
Dr. Wright gave a bitter, self-mocking laugh. More tears escaped.
"I wouldn't expect him to."
He pulled a chair toward the bed and sank into it like his bones had turned to water. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and looked at my son with an expression I couldn't name.
"He was about that small once," he whispered. "Thirty-two years ago. I held him just like that. Swore I'd never let anything hurt him."
He paused, swallowing hard.
"And then I left him."
The words hung in the air between us.
I didn't understand.
"You left him?"
"His mother and I… we were young. Scared. I thought I was doing the right thing, walking away so they could have a better life without my mistakes dragging them down."
He looked at me, and his eyes were pleading. Begging me to understand something I couldn't yet grasp.
"I didn't know he'd grow up thinking he wasn't worth staying for. I didn't know I'd taught him to run before he even learned how to love."
He gestured toward my son.
"When I saw him… when I saw that same birthmark on his shoulder, right where Logan had his…"
He trailed off, unable to finish.
I looked down at my baby, who the nurse had finally placed in my arms. I pulled back the blanket just enough to see it.
A small, faint mark on his left shoulder.
I'd noticed it already. Thought it was just a birthmark.
Now it felt like a ghost.
A cycle repeating itself.
"I need to find him," Dr. Wright said, standing abruptly. "I need to bring him here. Before he makes the same mistake I did."
I held my son tighter.
Protective.
Afraid.
"Logan didn't want this," I said, my voice trembling. "He left. What if seeing the baby only makes him run again?"
May you like
Dr. Wright leaned down, and for a moment, I saw the father he'd tried to be. The father he still wanted to be.
"Then I'll spend the rest of my life making sure this little one knows he's loved," he said quietly. "But I owe it to both of them to try."
