I forced myself to take a step forward, the wheels of the IV pole squeaking against the quiet floor.

We walked out into the corridor, Naomi on one side of me and General Vale on the other.

The hallway leading to the neonatal unit was bright and silent, the double doors of the nursery visible at the far end.

Through the frosted glass, I could see the distinct shadow of a man standing right outside the door, arguing with the security guard.

The phone in Naomi’s hand began to vibrate violently, the screen lighting up with a number from the Alexandria Police Department.

The heavy glass door of the nursery clicked, and began to swing open.

The door swung back fully, revealing Grant’s flushed face.

He was wearing the designer coat I had bought him for his last birthday, though the collar was crumpled and his tie was loose.

“I have a right to see my daughter,” Grant shouted, his voice echoing off the sterile tile walls.

The security guard, a burly man with a silver badge, kept his arm extended to block the threshold.