The sharp scent of antiseptic clung to the air inside Green Hearts Hospital, mingling with the faint sweetness of the flowers Eliana cradled in her arms. London had been quiet that morning—cold sunlight spilling over the misty streets—as she stood outside those glass doors, summoning the courage to step through. She'd promised herself last night that this visit wasn't about him. It was for the child—the small, fragile heartbeat inside her that deserved at least one parent willing to bridge the chasm between them.
The doors hissed open with a soft whoosh, ushering her into the hum of hospital life. Nurses swept past in crisp white uniforms, their rubber soles whispering against the polished floor. The sound of distant monitors and murmured conversations echoed faintly down the corridor, grounding her in the sterile rhythm of the place.
"I'm here to see Rafael Vexley," she said to the receptionist, her voice steady despite the pulse of nerves beneath it.
