Three years earlier, after her third miscarriage, everything had fallen apart. He had watched Rachel break down completely, crying on the bathroom floor until her voice gave out.
That’s when he made a decision—quietly, secretly, without telling anyone. No records tied to insurance. No conversations with family.
He went to a clinic and had a vasectomy.
At the time, he convinced himself it was love. Mercy. A way to protect her from more pain, from another loss he couldn’t bear to watch.
But now, standing in that hospital room, Rachel held a baby who—by all logic—could not be his.
The doctor came in, congratulated them warmly, checked on the baby, and left. Rachel looked up at Ethan with the same bright smile he had loved since they were teenagers.
