His hair was perfectly styled, and his skin had a faint tan from his weekend in Aspen.

He smelled of sandalwood cologne and cold autumn air.

He looked at me, then at the hospital bed, then at his father.

“Dad,” Ryan said, his voice smooth and entirely devoid of panic. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Thomas said.

Thomas did not move an inch, his broad shoulders blocking the bassinet where Ethan slept.

“Step aside, Dad,” Ryan said, walking into the room. “I’m here to take my son home.”

“He’s not going anywhere with you,” I said, my voice shaking but clear.

Ryan finally looked at me, his eyes cold and analytical, as if he were assessing a damaged piece of property.

“Emma, you’re not in any position to make decisions right now,” he said. “You almost died.”

“Because you left me,” I said, gripping the hospital sheet.

“That’s a lie, and you know it,” Ryan said, stepping closer. “I had urgent business in Chicago. I came back as soon as I heard.”