Chapter 2 - Tires on Asphalt
The drive to Saint Jude General Hospital usually took twenty agonizing minutes of city traffic, but today Ethan shaved it down to ten, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. The tuxedo felt like a straitjacket. Every red light was a personal insult, every slower driver an obstacle in a race against his own unraveling life. He parked haphazardly in the emergency zone, leaving the headlights on, and bolted through the automatic sliding doors into the blinding fluorescent glare of the lobby.
"Maternity ward, third floor, room 312," the receptionist rattled off mechanically, barely looking up from her monitor.
Ethan didn't wait for elevators; he took the concrete stairs two at a time, his polished dress shoes echoing sharply in the stairwell. His mind raced through a chaotic labyrinth of disbelief and raw panic. Clara had been his college sweetheart, a chapter of his life he thought he had closed amicably two years ago when ambition whispered promises of a corporate dynasty and a bride with a trust fund. Yet here he was, running toward a newborn child that bore his name, his face, and his blood.
May you like
He reached the third floor, bursting through the heavy swing doors of the maternity ward with a breathless gasp. Nurses turned to stare at the disheveled groom in a tuxedo, his white boutonniere now crushed and hanging limply by a single green stem. He scanned the numbered doors until his eyes locked onto 312. The door stood half-open, casting a narrow strip of warm, amber light across the linoleum floor. Ethan slowed his frantic pace, his boots sinking soundlessly into the rubberized tiles as he approached the threshold. He raised a trembling hand, hesitated for a agonizing fraction of a second, and pushed the door all the way open.
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