Then I thought of Leo Joseph, tiny and innocent in Brittany’s arms.
The baby had done nothing wrong.
That mattered.
Whatever I did next, I would not let my pain become a storm that swallowed a child.
“Change the locks,” I said.
Martin nodded once and reached for his phone.
While he called the security company, I walked into the empty dining room. The tables were set for tomorrow’s lunch service. Fresh menus rested beneath polished forks. A vase of white peonies sat on the hostess stand, leftover from a private dinner the night before.
White peonies.
The same flowers I had carried into Room 314.
I lifted one from the vase and held it by the stem.
My grandmother had loved peonies. She said they looked fragile until you watched them survive a storm.
The front door rattled.
I looked up.
Through the glass, under the rain-dark awning, stood Ethan.
He had changed out of the sweater he wore at the hospital into a black coat, his hair damp, his expression controlled. Handsome, even now. That almost angered me more. The world gave charming people so many extra seconds before judgment arrived.
He knocked once.
Then again.
“Emily,” he called through the door. “Open up.”
I did not move.
Behind me, Martin stepped from the hallway.
Ethan saw him and his expression hardened.
“Why is he here?”
I walked closer to the door, stopping just beyond the lock.
“We’re closed.”
“Don’t do this.” Ethan lowered his voice, glancing toward the street as if worried someone might hear. “You left the hospital without letting anyone explain.”
“You looked comfortable enough without me.”
His jaw tightened. “It wasn’t like that.”
The old version of me might have opened the door for that sentence alone. It wasn’t like that had saved many conversations in our marriage. It promised complexity. It invited patience. It asked me to wait while Ethan rearranged facts into something less sharp.
Tonight, the lock stayed between us.
“What was it like?” I asked.
He wiped rain from his forehead. “Brittany and I made mistakes. But Leo is here now. He deserves stability.”
“He deserves honesty.”
“He deserves a family.”