He turned back to the lawyer.

“Draft the relinquishment papers,” Ethan said.

“I want a complete and permanent forfeiture of my rights to the Harrison estate and all associated trusts.”

Mr. Vance blinked, his pen halting over his legal pad.

“Are you certain, Doctor? Once you sign the disclaimer of interest, it is irrevocable.”

“I have never been more certain of anything in my life,” Ethan said.

He took my hand, his fingers warm and dry against my cold, trembling palm.

We walked down the quiet corridor toward the neonatal intensive care unit.

The smell of antiseptic and baby lotion filled the air, replacing the damp, dusty odor of the basement.

Through the glass window, I could see the two incubators side by side.

Our babies were sleeping, their tiny chests rising and falling under the blue phototherapy lights.

The monitors hummed a steady, comforting rhythm in the dim room.

Ethan led me inside, and we both washed our hands at the stainless steel sink.

The water was hot, washing away the physical grime of the last few hours.

We approached Leo’s incubator first.