A FEW MONTHS LATER...
The hospital, at that hour, seemed suspended in a cold, clinical silence—the kind only corridors bathed in white light can create. It was the end of the night, that time when, if you look at it sideways, always feels like it's about to bring something irrevocable. The air hung heavy with disinfectant and stale coffee, mixing with the distant sound of an elevator, a solitary cough, the sighs of people waiting for news that is never good.
Emily found Sam in the hallway, sitting with his elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands. He looked small—still a boy, even though he was already a grown man, twenty-four years old, his muscular frame curling in on itself with grief. His crying was silent but flooded everything around him, like water seeping under a closed door.
"Sam..." Emily placed a hand on his shoulder, firm, but with a tenderness only those who have learned from grief possess. He raised his head slowly, red-eyed, eyelids swollen, looking like someone who'd forgotten how to breathe for hours.
"You know already, don't you?" Sam's voice was ragged, almost childlike. "Sophie... she..."
Emily sat beside him, her lab coat thrown over sober clothes, a pen clipped to her pocket, hair hastily pulled back.
"I was in the lab when I heard. I came as soon as I could. I'm so sorry, Sam. Truly."
The silence between them grew thick, like a damp sheet. Sam let himself cry a little more, his face sinking back into his hands.
"I had every reason in the world to hate Sophie, you know?" His voice was low, muffled. "She was going to make me take responsibility for Daniel's child—my... boyfriend, who cheated on me with her. And even so, now... there's no room for hate. It just hurts. It hurts in a way I don't even have a name for."
Emily took a deep breath, searching for her pragmatic side.
"Speaking of Daniel... Have you heard from him?"
Sam let out a rough, humorless laugh.
"Every now and then, he sends me messages. Awful things. Says if I or Sophie ever tried to come after him, it would be the end for both of us. Now, with Sophie gone, I keep thinking... if he ever finds out he has a child, what would he do?"
"Why don't you go to the police, Sam?"
"Would it help?" He looked up, the expression of someone who already knows the answers. "Daniel is rich, powerful. Remember Janet, my friend from college? She asked for a restraining order and got denied. The guy she was with came from an old-money family, all sorts of connections. Her story ended in tragedy."
Emily fell silent, absorbed, staring at the floor for a moment. Then she looked up, speaking with the calm precision of someone who made up her mind long ago:
"Brian is working overseas on a cruise ship—he won't be back for months. What if we let the world believe the baby is mine? I'll tell Brian I found out I was pregnant just after he left, so when he comes home, the baby will already be here, as if it's ours. I'll handle the paperwork, adjust the medical records, no one will suspect a thing. Daniel will never know his child survived... I'll make it look like the baby died with Sophie."
Sam stayed motionless, trying to understand if any of this could really be possible. Hope is a quiet thing, sneaking in softly, most often after tragedy. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, eyes of someone who's already seen too much.
"You'd do that... for me? For him?"
Emily smiled, tired, her face lit with an old, gentle affection.
"For both of you. For us. Because now, more than ever, we need each other. And because, if we don't do this, no one else will protect this child."
They embraced right there, in the empty hallway, co-conspirators in a pact of survival. Grief widened between them, but in that comfortless dawn, all that remained was the promise not to give up. The rest was only silence and the low shuffle of footsteps in the hospital.