He found out about the pregnancy late—after we were already living apart. He signed the acknowledgment papers, promised he’d “be there when it mattered.”
Promises are easy.
Thirty minutes later, the hospital door burst open.
A nurse stepped aside as Daniel rushed in, pale, disheveled, his shirt wrinkled like he hadn’t slept. His eyes were wide with panic.
“Valerie, please,” he said, breathless. “You have to hear me out.”
“What are you doing here?” I pushed myself up, wincing at the pain. “This is a hospital. Lower your voice.”
His eyes flicked to Ethan, then back to me, like he didn’t know where to look.
“Claire…” he stammered. “Claire doesn’t know about the baby. And someone just sent her a picture. She called me crying—said I lied to her. The wedding is in three days. If she hears it from someone else, she’ll leave me. I’ll lose everything.”
Something inside me snapped.
“Lose everything?” I repeated quietly. “What about me? What about your son?”
Daniel stepped closer, desperate.
“Please help me fix this, Valerie. I’m begging you. If I don’t explain it, she’s going to show up here and make a scene. She’s already on her way.”
My first instinct was to throw him out.