“I’m so sorry, Hannah.”

“She told me you wanted nothing to do with us,” I said.

My voice was stronger now, fueled by the old, bitter anger.

“She told me you signed the papers to send me away.”

“I never saw any papers,” Ethan said.

He took my hand, his grip tight and warm.

“She told me you moved to Europe with someone else.”

We stared at each other, the weight of five lost years hanging in the quiet room.

The door to the ICU room clicked open.

A young resident in a white coat stepped in, looking nervous.

“Dr. Harrison?” the resident said.

Ethan did not let go of my hand. “What is it, Dr. Vance?”

“The Chief of Medicine wants to see you in his office immediately,” Vance said.

“Tell him I’m busy with a post-op patient,” Ethan replied coldly.

“It’s about the twins,” Vance said, shifting his weight.

My heart gave a painful thud against my ribs.

“What about them?” I asked, trying to sit up.

Ethan pressed his hand gently against my shoulder to keep me down.