Chapter 1 - The Shattered Bottle
“And I recall you doing enough talking for the both of us.”
A few people in the waiting area shifted in their seats. The tension in the corridor was no longer just a private dispute; it was a palpable, suffocating weight that had everyone in a ten-foot radius holding their breath.
Julian’s jaw clenched. The smug, victorious facade he had worn like a tailored suit was beginning to fray at the seams. He took another step toward me, his expensive cologne suddenly smelling sharp and sour in the sterile hospital air.
“You’re just bitter, Elena,” he sneered, though his voice lacked the booming confidence it held moments ago. “You can play the stoic doctor all you want, but I know it kills you to look at this stroller and see everything you couldn’t give me.”
Sarah let out a shaky breath. “Julian, please. Let’s just go to the pediatric wing. We’re going to be late for his ear-tube consultation.”
“No,” Julian snapped, not taking his eyes off me. “I want her to look at him. I want her to see my son.”
“I’m looking at him, Julian,” I said smoothly, adjusting the clipboard under my arm. “He’s a beautiful boy. He has wonderful hazel eyes. And those fine brown curls… they are truly striking.”
Julian puffed his chest out. “He gets the curls from my mother’s side.”
“Does he?” I tilted my head, letting a cold, calculating silence stretch between us. “Because as a doctor, I’ve always found genetics to be absolutely fascinating. They are so… stubbornly honest.”
Julian’s brow furrowed. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Before I could answer, the heavy double doors of the outpatient clinic slid open with a mechanical whoosh.
A man walked through.
He was wearing a casual gray Henley and dark jeans, holding a paper coffee cup. He was tall, athletic, and possessed a head of thick, fine brown curls. As he looked up from his phone to scan the waiting room, his striking hazel eyes locked onto our little group.
It was Nathan Hayes. Julian’s younger brother.
The color drained from Sarah’s face so fast I thought she was going to experience syncope right there in the corridor.
Her hand went entirely slack.
Smash.
The heavy, glass baby bottle hit the linoleum floor, shattering into dozens of sharp fragments. Thick, white formula exploded outward, splashing across Julian’s polished loafers and pooling around the wheels of the designer stroller.
The baby jumped at the sound and began to wail, a high-pitched, terrified cry that echoed off the acoustic ceiling tiles.
May you like
Nathan froze in his tracks, his coffee cup pausing halfway to his mouth. His eyes darted from Julian to the crying baby, and finally, to Sarah, who looked as though she had just seen an apparition of death itself.
“Sarah?” Nathan asked, his voice echoing loudly in the sudden quiet of the waiting room. “What are you doing here? You told me you were taking him to the private clinic in Brentwood today.”
