Dr. Patel’s expression softened. “You’re safe here,” he said quietly. The nurse paused her pen and gave Nora a nod that meant go on—if you can.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Nora began, her voice shaking more from memory than pain. “When I found out I was pregnant, I thought I could handle it. I told myself I’d finish school first.”
She hesitated, eyes darting between the baby and the floor. “I didn’t tell him right away. Evan. I didn’t even know if he was ready to hear it.”
Dr. Patel didn’t interrupt. He’d heard confessions in delivery rooms before—fear disguised as logic, love pretending to be an accident.
“When I finally told him,” Nora said, “he didn’t say a word for a long time. Then he asked if I was okay. Not angry. Not gone. Just… steady.”
Her voice cracked. “He said we’d figure it out together. That he wasn’t going anywhere.”
Outside, a monitor beeped softly. The baby shifted, small breaths painting the blanket with warmth.
“But he didn’t make it here,” Nora whispered. “The car slid off the road on his way to pick me up last week. They said he died instantly.”
The doctor froze, pen hovering over the chart. “So when I asked who the father was…” Nora nodded, tears streaking her hospital gown. “He’s gone,” she said. “But he promised he’d be here—and I think he kept it.”
