The room was still in disarray, echoes of the chaos lingering in the sterile air. I clutched my newborn son, feeling his tiny breaths against my skin, grounding myself in his warmth. The nurses, now a flurry of professional efficiency, moved around me, checking vitals and ensuring both my baby and I were stable. Their calm presence was a stark contrast to the emotional tempest that had just erupted.
Marcus hovered at the periphery, his face a mask of conflict and remorse. The weight of his family’s actions seemed to press down on him, a visible burden on his slumped shoulders. Yet still, he did not move. Not towards me, nor away. He was caught in a limbo of his own making, unable to reconcile the reality before him with the family loyalties that had been shattered.
“Please, Evelyn,” Marcus began, his voice barely rising above a whisper, “I didn’t know she would do this. I never wanted—”
