He looked nothing like the men Ryan respected.
No tailored suit.
No watch meant to announce a bonus.
No shiny language.
Just a man who had shown up.
“That’s up to Claire,” Eli said.
Ryan gave a short laugh. “You’re the neighbor. You’ve done enough.”
“Yes,” Dana said sharply. “He has.”
Ryan turned on her. “I’m the father.”
Dana’s expression did not change.
“And this is a postpartum patient’s room. She decides who remains with her unless there is a medical or safety concern.”
“I am her husband.”
“Then act like one,” Eli said.
The room went quiet again.
Ryan stared at him.
“What did you say?”
Eli looked almost regretful.
Not afraid.
Regretful that the truth needed saying in front of me, while I was too tired to stand and too exposed to hide.
“I said, act like one.”
Ryan stepped toward him.
Dana pressed a button near the bed.
Not obvious.
Not dramatic.
But I saw it.
So did Ryan.
He stopped.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered.
I looked at Dana. “Can you please take my daughter for a moment?”
Her face softened immediately. “Of course.”
She lifted the baby carefully from my arms and placed her in the bassinet beside me. The loss of that tiny weight made my chest ache, but I needed both hands. I needed to sit up, even if my body screamed.
Eli moved forward. “Claire—”
“I’m okay.”
I was not okay.
But I had discovered in labor that okay was not always required. Sometimes continuing was enough.
I pushed myself higher against the pillows. Pain flashed low through my body. My hands shook. My hair was plastered to my face. I had not slept. I had not eaten. I had blood under one fingernail from clutching the bedrail.
Still, when I looked at Ryan, I felt taller than he had ever allowed me to be.
“Listen carefully,” I said. “You left me while I was in active labor because you decided a meeting mattered more than my life and our baby’s. You turned off your phone. You arrived after she was born. Then you accused me of cheating because the man you mock for being quiet did what you refused to do.”
Ryan’s lips parted.
