I’m in love with him.
Did she mean it?
Or was it a shield? A way to keep Maria from turning on her completely? I want to ask. Fuck, I want toknow. But not now. Not when she’s like this—torn open in every way, and still managing to look at me with something that feels dangerously close to love.
Across the room, Maria finishes cleaning up. She doesn’t say a word. Just wipes her hands, disinfects everything, her jaw tight. But I see it—the way her eyes shimmer just before she turns away. She doesn’t want us to see her like this. It’s an emotional moment for everyone involved.
I hold the baby a little tighter. My son.
And when I look back at Zoe, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, I know something inside me has changed. Permanently. Irreversibly.
I didn’t think I could belong to anyone again.
But right now, in this room, I do. The three people present are the most important people in my life. My family.
The sirens barely register until they’re right outside. The medics flood in, efficient, controlled, already asking questions I don’t really hear. Zoe is weak but alert, her hand still clutching the blanket like it’s the only solid thing in the world. I don’t let go of the baby.
Maria stands back, arms folded, her mask of calm slipping just slightly around the edges. As they start to wheel Zoe out of the room, one of the paramedics asks if she’s coming with us. She shakes her head.
“No. I have some things I need to do,” she says, voice steady but clipped. It’s bullshit. We both know it. But I don’t call her out.
She grabs her bag, slinging it over her shoulder, and heads for the door—then pauses. Turns back and walks over to Zoe. No words are exchanged. Just a look.
Something fragile passes between them—half forgiveness, half goodbye. Zoe’s lips tremble into a faint smile, and Maria nods, almost imperceptibly.
Then she walks out, the door clicking shut behind her.
I’m left standing there, my son cradled against my chest, the medical team moving around me. Voices, questions, flashing lights. But none of it feels real. Except Zoe and the boy in my arms.
And the strange, terrifying peace that comes with knowing—for the first time in my life—I have something I can’t afford to lose.
The medics roll her into the ambulance on a stretcher, moving fast but careful. Zoe’s eyes are fluttering, but the color is starting to return to her cheeks. I climb in without hesitation, crouching beside her, but before I can sit fully, one of the paramedics turns to me.
“We’ll take the baby now, sir.”
For a moment, I hesitate. My arms tighten instinctively around my son, but I know they need to examine him—make sure he’s okay. I nod once, stiffly, and hand him over. The second he’s gone from my arms, something in me aches. Like I’ve just handed over a piece of my soul.
I sit beside Zoe, brushing damp hair from her face. Her skin is clammy, her lips cracked. She’s trying to stay awake, her lashes fluttering.
“You’re safe,” I tell her, low and firm. “You did it. He’s perfect. You were perfect.”
Her lips curve just slightly, but she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to.
The ambulance rocks into motion. The lights flash through the windows, red and urgent. The medics move around us, checking vitals, murmuring codes and numbers I barely register.
And then it hits me. All of it.
I bend down, press a kiss to her cheek, and I don’t care if anyone hears. I don’t care if it makes me weak.
“I love you so much, little bird,” I whisper, my voice thick. “Thank you for the gift of my son. I’ll cherish you both forever.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine - Zoe
It’s been two months since I gave birth to Sam. Two months of late-night feedings, exhaustion so deep it clings to my bones, and a kind of love I didn’t know could exist. Maria returned to France a week after the birth. She stayed long enough to make sure I was stable, that the baby was healthy—but then she left. I understood. She needed distance. Time. The lines between best friend, daughter, and doctor had blurred too much. And we weren’t the same girls we used to be.
We text, sometimes. Little check-ins. But it’s different now. Everything is. I hope we can go back to how we used to be, but for now, I have no regrets.
Jenni has been wonderful. Although I kept everything from her until the birth, she never judged me or got upset with me. She was a little surprised to find out about Maria’s father, but she quickly got over it and became a helping hand whenever she could get away from school. Our friendship deepened.
