The heavy wooden door of the hospital room clicked open.
My heart leapt into my throat, a desperate surge of hope overriding the physical pain. I tried to sit up, wincing as the stitches pulled taut.
Caleb walked in.
He was dressed impeccably, as always. He wore a tailored navy-blue Brioni suit, a crisp white shirt, and a silk tie that cost more than a month of my salary as a registered nurse. His hair was perfectly styled, not a single strand out of place. There were no dark circles under his eyes, no wrinkles in his clothes, no signs of the frantic, heart-stopping worry that a father should possess when his wife and children nearly died.
He stopped at the foot of my bed. He didn’t rush forward to hold my hand. He didn’t lean down to kiss my forehead. Most damning of all, he didn’t even turn his head to look at the glass cribs where his son and daughter were sleeping.
His face was an unreadable mask of stoic detachment. It was the face he wore when firing an underperforming employee.
“Caleb…” I whispered, my voice cracked and dry from the oxygen mask I had worn for hours. “You’re here. They’re okay. The babies… Emma and Ethan. They’re small, but they’re okay.”
Caleb shifted his weight, putting his hands into his trouser pockets. He looked at the blank wall above my head, actively avoiding my tear-filled eyes.
“Lena,” he began, his voice flat, devoid of any warmth or inflection. “We need to talk.”
A cold dread began to pool in the pit of my stomach, far worse than the pain of the surgery. “Talk? Caleb, what’s wrong? Why didn’t you answer your phone last night?”
He let out a slow, measured sigh, the kind of sigh one gives when dealing with a minor inconvenience. “I was with my mother. We had a long discussion about the trajectory of my life. About my future.”
“Your future?” I echoed, my mind struggling to process the absolute absurdity of his words.
“Yes,” he said, finally looking at me, his eyes as cold as polished marble. “Lena… I need space. Mom thinks this life isn’t for me. She thinks that marrying you was a rebellion, a phase. And now, with the babies… the timing is completely wrong. Having kids right now, especially with someone of your… background… is too inconvenient for my future. It doesn’t align with the image the Carter family needs projecting for the upcoming board elections.”
