I had just spent twelve hours bringing a child into the world alone.
I had no patience left for riddles.
“Doctor, please.”
He nodded immediately.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
He drew in a careful breath.
“Logan’s mother was named Margaret. We married very young. Too young, perhaps, though I loved her very much. Logan was our only child.”
Something in his voice changed when he said Margaret’s name.
Not grief exactly.
Something quieter.
The ache of a room long after everyone has left it.
“When Logan was six,” he continued, “my marriage began falling apart.”
He gave a faint, humorless smile.
Advertisement
“I was a young physician convinced that every emergency at the hospital required me personally. I missed dinners. School events. Weekends. I told myself I was providing for my family.”
His eyes lifted toward mine.
“I didn’t understand that providing a home and being present in it are two different things.”
