Then the pain became impossible to ignore.
I called Adrian seven times.
He never answered.
I texted:
SOMETHING IS WRONG.
PLEASE CALL ME.
Three hours later, he replied.
Can this wait? I’m in meetings.
By midnight, doctors had rushed me into emergency treatment.
Despite everything the medical team did, we lost our son, Daniel, that night.
When I woke up, I felt completely empty.
A nurse had carefully folded the tiny blue blanket I had packed weeks earlier and placed it with my belongings.
I couldn’t look at it for long.
My mother sat beside me.
Noah stood near the doorway, pale and shaken.
“He knows?” I whispered.
Noah lowered his eyes.
“I tried.
He told me not to interrupt him unless the building was on fire.”
Something inside me went quiet.
I never imagined grief and betrayal arriving at the same time.
But that night, they became impossible to separate.
