“Your… son?”
Dr. Wright nodded slowly.
“My youngest.” His lips trembled. “And I haven’t seen him in seven months.”
The room went silent except for the baby’s soft breathing.
Joanna’s mind raced back through every memory Logan had given her. His careful smile. His nervous charm. His refusal to talk about family. The way he always changed the subject whenever she asked about his childhood.
“He told me both his parents were dead,” Joanna whispered.
Dr. Wright flinched as if she had struck him.
“No,” he said hoarsely. “His mother died when he was twelve. But I’m alive.”
Joanna looked down at her son, whose tiny fingers had curled around the edge of her hospital gown.
A terrible ache rose in her chest.
“So he lied to me about everything?”
Dr. Wright didn’t answer immediately.
He looked toward the nurses. “Could you give us a moment?”
The nurses hesitated, but Joanna nodded. One by one, they stepped back, leaving the room heavy with secrets.
Dr. Wright pulled a chair beside the bed, but he did not sit until Joanna gave him permission with a faint nod.
“I need to tell you something,” he said. “And I need you to know I’m not asking for forgiveness on his behalf.”
Joanna’s eyes sharpened.
“Good,” she said. “Because I don’t have any to give.”
Dr. Wright accepted that like a punishment he deserved.
“Logan wasn’t always cruel,” he began. “He was bright. Gentle, once. But after his mother died, something in him changed. He became angry at the world. Angry at me. He blamed me for not saving her, even though there was nothing anyone could have done.”
His gaze drifted to the baby.
“When he was twenty-two, he disappeared for almost a year. When he came back, he had debts, lies, and a woman following him from city to city demanding answers. I tried to help him. I paid what I could. I got him counseling. I begged him to rebuild his life.”
Joanna’s voice was bitter. “And instead he found me.”
Dr. Wright looked down.
“Yes.”
Joanna’s throat tightened. “He left the night I told him I was pregnant.”
“I know.”
Her eyes snapped to him.
“You know?”
Dr. Wright reached into his coat pocket with shaking hands and pulled out a folded envelope. Its edges were worn, as if it had been opened and closed countless times.
“He came to my house that same night,” he said. “He was panicked. He said there was a woman. He said there was a baby. I told him to go back to you immediately. I told him becoming a father was not something he could run from.”
Dr. Wright’s mouth hardened.
“He laughed at me.”
Joanna felt cold anger climb up her spine.
“What did he do?”
Dr. Wright unfolded the envelope and revealed a photograph.
Logan stood in a driveway, younger, smiling carelessly beside a dark-haired woman Joanna had never seen. Between them was a little boy with Logan’s same gray eyes.
Joanna stopped breathing.
Dr. Wright’s voice fell.
“Logan already had a child.”
The words struck the room like thunder.
Joanna shook her head slowly. “No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No,” she repeated, louder. “No, he would have told me.”
But even as she said it, she knew he wouldn’t have.
Logan had told her he wanted a fresh start.
Logan had told her she was the only person who understood him.
Logan had told her everything except the truth.
Dr. Wright’s eyes filled again.
“The boy’s name was Ethan,” he said. “He was my grandson.”
Was.
The word hung between them.
Joanna looked at him sharply.
“What happened to him?”
Dr. Wright’s face crumpled.
“Two years ago, Logan was supposed to take Ethan to his mother’s house. Instead, he left him in a motel room while he went gambling. The heater malfunctioned during the night.”
Joanna pressed a hand over her mouth.
Dr. Wright’s voice broke.
“Ethan died before morning.”
The baby stirred against Joanna’s chest, and she clutched him as if death itself had reached into the room.
“My God,” she whispered.
Dr. Wright stared at the newborn.
“When I walked in today and saw your son’s face, I thought I was seeing Ethan again.”
Joanna looked down.
Now she saw it too, though she had never known Ethan. The serious little mouth. The deep gray eyes barely opening beneath swollen lids. The tiny crease beside one eyebrow.