The crying from the hallway rose in small, urgent waves, the sound of a baby demanding the world make sense again. Megan moved first. She always did when the children needed her. She stepped toward the door, but Rowan gently lifted his hand.
“Let me,” he said.
Megan stopped.
It was such a small request. Not a grand apology. Not a courtroom promise. Just two words spoken by a man who had spent a year mistaking control for strength and was now asking permission to comfort his own son.
Megan’s eyes searched his face.
Then she nodded once.
Rowan opened the exam room door and found the nurse holding Ellis, whose tiny fists were clenched near his cheeks, his face red with protest. Noah lay in the bassinet beside them, blinking as if offended by the noise.
“He got hungry all at once,” the nurse said.
Rowan froze with uncertainty.
