“Of course,” the nurse said. “Follow me.”

She swiped her keycard against the electronic lock on the secure door.

The lock clicked open with a loud, mechanical snap.

Inside, the room was smaller, lit by soft blue light from the monitors.

Owen lay in a bassinet in the corner, his tiny chest rising and falling beneath his striped blanket.

I reached into the bassinet and touched his warm, soft forehead.

He let out a tiny sigh, his little fingers twitching in his sleep.

“He is perfectly fine,” the nurse murmured. “The security guard escorted the woman off the premises.”

My father looked at the nurse. “Did you call the police?”

“The hospital administrator is handling it now,” she replied.

“I want a police report filed for this specific incident,” my father said. “My daughter has a protective order in progress.”

“I understand, Colonel,” she said.

We stayed with Owen for another twenty minutes until my father insisted I return to my room.

“You need to rest, Hannah,” he said gently. “Your body cannot heal under this stress.”