Chapter 6
Michael stood panting in the doorway of Room 412, his eyes darting frantically from Ethan’s pale, sweat-slicked face to Sarah sitting upright in the hospital bed with the newborn baby cradled against her chest. The quiet, sterile peace of the room was instantly shattered by the abrasive energy of Michael’s intrusion. A passing nurse stopped briefly in the hallway, peering through the open glass panel of the door before continuing on her rounds, ignoring the domestic drama unfolding inside. Ethan didn't move; he remained frozen beside the bed, his hands still trembling slightly as he stared down at the child that bore his exact facial structure.
"Michael, keep your voice down," Ethan warned, his tone flat and dangerously sharp.
Michael slammed the door shut behind him, stepping aggressively into the tight confines of the room, his groomsman jacket swinging open. "Keep my voice down? Are you out of your absolute mind, Ethan? Clara’s father is currently pacing a hole into the hardwood floor of the vestry. The guests are whispering. The caterer is threatening to pack up the food. And you’re standing here in a hospital room?" Michael stopped abruptly as his gaze finally locked onto the bundle in Sarah’s arms. The color drained from his face as the terrifying visual confirmation hit him like a physical blow. "Wait... is that...?"
"Yes," Sarah said, her voice cutting through the tension like a razor blade. "It’s his son. And your presence here, Michael, is entirely unwelcome, so I suggest you turn around and walk out."
Michael ignored Sarah, staring at Ethan with a mixture of horror and betrayal. "You blew up your entire wedding—a wedding that took a year to plan—for this? Ethan, you can't just walk away from Clara. She loves you. Her family has invested everything into your corporate partnership with her father."
"You don't understand," Ethan muttered, running a hand through his damp hair, his breathing growing shallow and erratic. "You didn't see him. He has my face, Michael. He is mine."
"I don't care whose face he has!" Michael hissed, grabbing Ethan by the lapel of his tuxedo, right over the crushed white rose. "You had a life lined up! A golden future! You were about to sign the partnership papers on Monday! If you walk out on Clara now, her father will systematically destroy your career, your reputation, and every single asset you’ve spent your adult life acquiring. He owns half the commercial real estate in this county!"
Ethan looked down at Michael’s hand clutching his lapel, then slowly raised his eyes to meet Michael’s panicked gaze. For the first time in his life, the corporate ambition and social climbing that had defined his relationship with Clara felt utterly meaningless, reduced to ash by the simple, heavy breathing of the infant resting a few feet away.
"Let go of my jacket, Michael," Ethan said quietly, his voice devoid of any hesitation.
Michael blinked, taken aback by the absolute finality in Ethan’s tone, and slowly released his grip, stepping back as if Ethan had suddenly become contagious.
"You're making a catastrophic mistake," Michael whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're throwing away everything."
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"No," Ethan replied, turning his back on Michael to look down once more at the baby. "For the first time, I think I’m finally doing the right thing."
Before Michael could respond, the heavy door clicked open again, and a tall, imposing man in an impeccably tailored gray suit stepped into the room, his face dark with a terrifying, suppressed rage.
