I handed the clipboard back to the nurse, my grip shaking so much that the pen clattered to the floor. Her gaze followed me as I maneuvered through the corridors, each step feeling like a trek through quicksand.

When I reached the room, a doctor intercepted me. “Ma’am, what you’re about to see may shock you.” His words barely registered as I pushed past him.

There they were, separated by a thin hospital curtain. Michael lay with a cast on his arm, eyes closed, though his eyelids fluttered at the sound of footsteps. On the adjacent bed lay Jessica, a bandage across her forehead.

A silent scream clenched my throat as I sank to my knees, clutching my belly, willing my baby to remain calm amidst my storm of emotions. In this moment, I was a shattered woman, not the resilient mother I longed to be.

Michael’s eyes opened slowly. “Anna,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, laced with pain and something else—guilt.

“Why?” The single word was all I managed, a whisper barely loud enough to reach him, yet it carried all the weight of my betrayal.

He blinked, confusion clouding his features. “It’s not… what you think.”

“Not what I think?” I echoed, each word a shard of glass in my throat. “You’re in a hospital with her.”

Jessica turned her head, her eyes meeting mine. Despite the bandage, she carried an air of defiance. “Anna… I didn’t…”

I cut her off with a look sharp enough to silence the room. “Don’t.”

Michael struggled to sit up, wincing as pain shot through his injured arm. “Anna, listen. Jessica’s car broke down. I was giving her a ride.”

My laughter was sharp and humorless. “A ride. On I-5. At 3 a.m.?”

He nodded, his eyes pleading for understanding. “She called me. I couldn’t leave her stranded.”

The explanation sounded weak, stretched thin under the weight of midnight doubts and long-buried insecurities. “And you couldn’t call a tow truck?”