"You are...?"
"Kai's father." Before I could speak, Kayden said it. Calm and certain.
Amy blinked. Then her eyes lit up.
"That's wonderful, Miss Ross. With his father's guidance, Kai will recover quickly." She turned, fishing keys from her pocket.
"Follow me. We'll need a quiet space, at least an hour undisturbed..."
As Kayden moved to follow, I finally found a shred of clarity and grabbed his arm.
"Save him. Please..." I pressed my forehead against his arm, tears streaming down, soaking his skin.
"He's your son... for that alone..." Sobs broke my words apart. I couldn't go on.
Kayden sighed. He stroked my hair gently, then firmly but tenderly cupped my face, thumb wiping my tears.
"Trust me." He said, forehead touching mine, our breaths mingling. "Layla, trust me. This is just bloodline guidance. I went through it many times with my father. Kai will be fine. I swear it."
Then he kissed my forehead. Feather-light, barely there, but that spot burned.
"I'll protect our son." He whispered, only for me. "With my life."
He released me and followed Amy deeper into the ward.
The door closed in my face. Click. Like something locking shut.
I stood there, staring at that pale blue door, hand still suspended where I'd grabbed his arm.
"Ella..." Anna came over, taking my hanging hand. "It'll be okay."
"Yeah." I nodded mechanically, walked to the hallway bench, and sat. Hands clasped on my knees, back rigid, repeating silently.
It has to be okay.
Time turned thick. Every second felt like wading through mud. The wall clock ticked away. To me, the hands crawled like snails. I stared at that door, unblinking, afraid to miss anything.
What was Kayden doing in there? Was Kai still hurting?
What did guidance even look like? Could it be dangerous?
A million thoughts swarmed my brain like crazed ants.
Anna sat beside me, squeezing my hand now and then.
"Want some water?" she asked.
I shook my head.
"Want to walk around?"
Another shake.
I didn't want to go anywhere. I just wanted to sit here, staring at that door, waiting for it to open.
Ten minutes passed. Twenty. Half an hour.
My palms were slick with sweat, my back soaked cold, shirt clinging to my skin like mold.
