Elmore dragged his feet across the linoleum floor. He felt like a man walking to his own execution. He reached Cubicle Three, grabbed the edge of the curtain, and stepped back into the small, chemical-smelling space.

Buddy was sitting up slightly against the elevated pillows. A strip of white medical tape secured an IV needle to the back of his small, pale hand. Clear fluid dripped slowly through the plastic tubing.

When Buddy saw his father enter, a desperate spark of hope lit up his fever-glazed eyes. He pushed himself up a fraction of an inch.

Elmore pulled the cheap plastic chair closer to the bed and sat down heavily. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his large hands. The pulse in his temples hammered a sickening rhythm against his palms.

Buddy noticed the rigid tension in his father's shoulders. The boy reached out with his free hand and weakly tugged at the cuff of Elmore's cashmere coat.

Elmore dropped his hands and lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked at his son's face-the shape of the eyes, the curve of the jaw-it was a ghost of Kendal staring back at him. His chest tightened painfully.

Buddy bit his dry lower lip. His voice was a raspy, quiet whisper as he asked, "Father, is that her? The woman from the picture... is that my mother?"

The question exploded in Elmore's ears like a gunshot. His pupils blew wide open.

He instantly twisted his head, his eyes darting toward the gap in the curtain to make sure no one was standing outside. His body coiled tight, every muscle locking into a state of extreme defensive panic.

Buddy reached under his thin hospital pillow. His small fingers pulled out a heavy, tarnished silver pocket watch. He popped the lid open. Inside sat a faded, grainy photograph of Kendal's side profile.

The boy pointed a trembling finger at the picture, then pointed toward the hallway. His eyes begged for the truth.

Elmore stared at the watch. It was his watch. He used to hold it until the metal dug into his skin during his worst panic attacks. Buddy must have stolen it from his nightstand.

The image of Kendal's face contorting in absolute disgust in the hallway flashed behind Elmore's eyes. If she knew this boy was hers, would she look at the child with that same revulsion?

A darker, more terrifying thought gripped his throat. If she knew the child survived, she would take him. She would take Buddy and vanish, leaving Elmore with nothing but empty rooms and his own madness.

Driven by a sickening surge of selfish terror, Elmore lunged forward. He snatched the pocket watch out of Buddy's hand with brutal force.

Buddy flinched hard. His small shoulders shrank back against the mattress, and his eyes instantly filled with hot tears. He pulled his empty hand to his chest.

Elmore forced his jaw to lock. He stared at his crying son and stated in a cold, hard voice that the doctor was just a stranger who happened to look similar.

Buddy shook his head stubbornly. A tear spilled over his hot cheek. He argued in a broken voice that the doctor smelled exactly like the old scarf locked in his father's closet.

The boy's sharp senses felt like needles driving under Elmore's fingernails. He leaned in close and ordered Buddy to never bring it up again. His voice left no room for argument.

A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the bed. Buddy turned his face toward the wall, his small chest hitching with silent sobs.

The curtain suddenly swept back. Kendal walked in carrying a small glass vial of antibiotics.

Elmore shot up from the chair like a spring. His massive frame immediately moved to block the space between Kendal and the bed, trying to physically sever their line of sight.

Kendal stopped. Her brow furrowed in irritation at his erratic movement. She let out a short breath through her nose, her thumb pressing hard into her index knuckle.

Behind Elmore's back, Buddy leaned his head around his father's waist. He stared at Kendal with wide, tear-soaked eyes. The look on the boy's face was pure, unadulterated longing.

Kendal's eyes met the child's. A strange, heavy sensation dropped into the bottom of her stomach. A sharp ache flared in her chest, completely unprompted.

She assumed the aggressive man standing in front of her had just yelled at the sick child. Her jaw tightened with fresh anger toward Elmore.

She stepped entirely around Elmore, ignoring his presence, and moved to the far side of the bed. She reached deep into the pocket of her lab coat and pulled out a sugar-free cherry lollipop.

She leaned down until her face was level with Buddy's. Her voice dropped an octave, turning incredibly soft and warm. She pressed the plastic stick into Buddy's hand and told him he was doing a very brave job.

Buddy's fingers closed tightly around the lollipop. He felt the lingering warmth from her pocket on the plastic wrapper. Fresh tears spilled rapidly down his cheeks, dropping onto the white blanket.

Elmore stood frozen on the other side of the bed. He watched his wife comfort their son, a son who thought he was motherless, a wife who thought her baby was dead. The lie he had built was burning him alive from the inside out, the flames of his own deceit scorching his throat so badly he couldn't breathe as he witnessed the natural, undeniable bond he was actively destroying.

Kendal straightened her back, her eyes naturally dropping to assess the IV line taped to Buddy's hand. She noticed a slight, puffy redness forming around the edges of the clear medical tape.

She immediately set the glass vial of antibiotics down on the metal tray. She reached out and gently pressed her fingertips against the skin just above the vein.

Buddy sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. His hand flinched, trying to pull away from the pressure.

Kendal's eyebrows pulled together. She recognized the swelling instantly. The IV had infiltrated; the fluid was leaking into the surrounding tissue instead of the vein.

She reached up and clamped the plastic roller valve shut, cutting off the drip. Her movements were sharp, precise, and completely devoid of panic.

Elmore saw the fluid stop. His chest seized. He took a step forward, his voice tight with anxiety, asking what was wrong with him.

Kendal did not even turn her head. She kept her eyes on Buddy's hand and threw the words over her shoulder. She stated it was a minor infiltration and ordered the family member to step back and stop blocking the overhead light.

The cold, clinical command hit Elmore's chest like a physical shove. He stopped moving. He slowly took two steps backward until his shoulder blades hit the cold, hard drywall of the cubicle.

Kendal peeled the tape back with slow, careful precision. She leaned in close to Buddy and spoke in a low, soothing murmur, telling him it would pinch for a second and to blow out air like he was blowing up a balloon.

Buddy puffed his cheeks out and blew a stream of air through his lips. But his eyes never left Kendal's face. He watched the way her eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks.

Kendal pulled the needle out in one smooth motion. She instantly pressed a sterile cotton swab hard against the puncture wound. Her touch was incredibly gentle despite the pressure.

Standing in the shadows, Elmore watched her hands. A violent wave of jealousy and grief crashed over him.

He remembered a night eight years ago when he had a severe stomach virus. She had sat on the edge of their bed until dawn, wiping sweat from his forehead, speaking to him in that exact same hushed, comforting tone.

Now, that tenderness was locked away behind a vault, and she was freely giving it to a child she believed was a stranger.

Kendal called out to a passing nurse, asking for a warm compress. When the nurse handed it through the curtain, Kendal carefully laid the warm pack over Buddy's swollen hand to help the fluid absorb.

Buddy felt the soothing heat sink into his skin. He looked up at her, his voice trembling slightly as he whispered a soft thank you to Dr. Butler.

Kendal paused. She looked down at the boy's pale, earnest face. Something inside her chest squeezed painfully. Without thinking, she reached out and ran her hand over the top of his head, her fingers brushing through his soft hair.

The maternal gesture drove a spike straight through Elmore's eyes. His throat closed up.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cross the room, grab her by the shoulders, and tell her the truth. He wanted to tell her she could pick the boy up and hold him forever.

But the fear of her hatred wrapped around his windpipe like a steel wire. He stood in the corner, a silent monster watching a family he had destroyed.

Kendal needed to find a new vein on Buddy's other arm. Because of the fever and dehydration, the veins were flat and difficult to trace. She bent over low, her cheek almost touching Buddy's forearm as she searched for a blue line.

A loose strand of dark hair slipped out from behind her ear and fell across her eyes, blocking her vision.

Elmore's hand twitched. His body moved on pure instinct. He took a half-step forward, his fingers lifting to tuck the hair back behind her ear-a motion he had performed a thousand times in another life.

Before his foot even fully landed, Kendal turned her head sharply and rubbed her face against her own shoulder, pushing the hair out of the way herself.

The self-sufficient movement was a physical rejection. It drew a thick, black line in the sand between them.

She found the vein. The needle slid in perfectly. She taped it down securely and let out a long breath.

She stood up straight. She looked at Elmore, her face a blank mask, and recited the observation protocols for the next hour. Her voice was made of iron.

When she finished, she turned around, pushed the curtain aside, and walked out of the room toward the staff break room.

Elmore stared at the empty space she left behind. He looked down at his son, who was staring sadly at the door. Elmore's jaw clenched. He pulled out his phone.

Elmore stepped out of the cubicle. He held his phone to his ear, his voice a low, demanding bark as he ordered his executive assistant, M. Sheppard, to have his private chef team deliver a custom meal within the hour.

An hour later, Elmore walked down the hospital corridor carrying a heavy, dark-matte paper bag with a gold foil logo. His footsteps felt heavy, dragging against the linoleum.

He stopped outside the staff break room. The door was cracked open an inch. Through the sliver of space, he saw Kendal sitting on a worn vinyl sofa. Her head was tipped back against the wall, her eyes closed, her fingers massaging the back of her neck in exhaustion.

Elmore pushed the door open. His massive frame blocked the fluorescent light from the hallway.

Kendal's eyes snapped open. The moment she saw him, the exhaustion vanished, replaced by a hard, defensive glare. She stood up immediately, grabbing her bag to leave.

Elmore stepped quickly into the room. He set the expensive food bag on the plastic table. His voice cracked slightly as he begged her to eat, mentioning that he remembered how bad her stomach cramps got when she skipped meals.

Kendal stopped. She looked at the bag, then up at his face. A cold, mocking laugh escaped her lips. She asked him who he was performing this pathetic display of affection for.

She walked straight to the table. She grabbed the handles of the bag. Without a second of hesitation, she turned and walked to the large red biohazard trash can in the corner.

She opened her fingers. The heavy bag hit the bottom of the plastic bin with a loud, hollow thud.

Elmore's hands curled into fists so tight his knuckles turned bone-white. A flash of dark, violent hurt crossed his eyes, but he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper to keep his face blank.

Kendal looked at him with dead eyes. She told him to stop doing things that made her sick to her stomach. She walked past him and out the door.

Her shift was over. Elmore followed her at a distance, a ghost haunting her footsteps. He watched her swap her lab coat for a tan trench coat and walk toward the hospital's underground parking garage.

Elmore stayed in the shadows of the concrete pillars, keeping thirty feet between them. The air in the garage was thick with the smell of exhaust and damp concrete.

Kendal stopped beside a black Volvo SUV. She pressed the button on her key fob. The headlights flashed twice, illuminating the dark space.

Elmore leaned against a pillar, his eyes tracking her every move.

She opened the driver's side door but didn't get in immediately. She leaned across the center console to move something off the passenger seat.

The dome light inside the car clicked on.

Elmore's eyes locked onto the interior. His breathing stopped.

Sitting on the passenger seat was a brightly colored, plastic Transformer toy.

It was a toy for a young boy. It had absolutely no place in Kendal's life.

Before his brain could process the toy, his eyes dropped to her left hand resting on the steering wheel.

Under the yellow glow of the dome light, a massive, perfectly cut diamond engagement ring flashed on her ring finger.

The flash of light hit Elmore's eyes like a physical blade. The blade drove straight through his ribs and twisted violently in his heart.

A wave of dizziness hit him so hard the concrete floor seemed to tilt. He slammed his palm against the rough pillar to keep himself from falling to his knees. His lungs burned as he gasped for air.

Kendal sat back in the driver's seat. She pulled her phone from her pocket. The screen lit up her face. Elmore could see the notification bubble. It was a message from someone named "Charles."

As Kendal read the screen, the hard lines of her face softened. The corners of her mouth lifted into a genuine, tender smile.

That smile shattered the last remaining pillar of Elmore's sanity. A roaring sound filled his ears. His blood boiled with a toxic, consuming jealousy. He wanted to sprint across the concrete, smash the car windows, and tear the ring off her finger.

But he stayed frozen. He remembered the fierce, protective look in her eyes eight years ago. If he moved now, she would look at him with hatred.

The Volvo's engine roared to life. Kendal backed out of the space and drove toward the exit ramp.

Elmore stood alone in the dark, breathing in the smell of her exhaust. He pulled his phone from his pocket. His thumb hit the speed dial.

When Sheppard answered, Elmore's voice was a dead, hollow sound from the bottom of hell. He ordered a full background check on a man named Charles.