get it to him.”
“You knew his workplace.”
Logan looked away.
“I couldn’t send it directly.”
“So you made the pregnant woman you abandoned carry it for you.”
He flinched.
Good.
“Joanna, I was not thinking clearly.”
“You were thinking clearly enough to lie to your family.”
“I was scared.”
“So was I.”
The room went quiet.
I continued.
“I was scared when I could not afford the first ultrasound bill.
I was scared when I woke up bleeding at fourteen weeks and had to take a bus to urgent care.
I was scared when I worked closing shifts because missing one paycheck meant missing rent.
I was scared when labor started and there was nobody to call.”
Logan’s face changed at the mention of the bleeding.
“You never told me that.”
I stared at him.
“I sent thirty-two messages.”
He looked down.
Dr.
Wright’s voice was cold.
“Answer her.”
Logan rubbed both hands over his face.
“I blocked the number.”
The words were quiet.
But they landed like something heavy.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because every time you contacted me, I wanted to come back.”
I shook my head.
“That is not romantic.”
“I know.”
“No, Logan.
You keep saying that, but you don’t.
Wanting to do the right thing and choosing not to do it is not the same as being helpless.”
He looked at the baby again.
“Is he healthy?”
My arms tightened instinctively.
“Yes.”
His eyes filled.
“Can I see him?”
I studied the man I had once planned to build a life with.
Part of me wanted to refuse just to hurt him.
But that would have made my son a weapon.
And I had promised myself, long before delivery, that I would never use my child to punish an adult.
“You can look from there,” I said.
I shifted the blanket enough for him to see the baby’s face.
Logan covered his mouth.
He began to cry.
Dr.
Wright turned away.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Logan whispered, “He has your chin.”
“You don’t know him well enough to say what he has.”
The sentence hurt both of us.
But it was true.
A nurse entered to check my blood pressure and quietly left again when she sensed the tension.
Logan wiped his eyes.
“I want to fix this.”
I looked at him.
“You cannot fix seven months.”
“Then let me start now.”
Dr.
Wright stepped forward.
“Starting now means truth first.
All of it.”
Logan’s expression shifted.
His father noticed.
“There is more,” Dr.
Wright said.
Logan said nothing.
“What else did you hide?”
I watched panic return to his face.
That was when I understood the letter was not the whole secret.
Logan stood too quickly.
The security officer moved.
“I need air.”
“Sit down,” Dr.
Wright said.
“Dad—”
“Sit.
Down.”
Logan obeyed.
Dr.
Wright picked up the final page of the letter.
“You wrote, ‘I could not let the same thing happen again.’ What did you mean?”
Logan stared at the floor.
“Nothing.”
“You put it in writing.”
“I was upset.”
“What happened before?”
The silence stretched.
Then Logan looked at me.
I had never seen such naked fear in his face.
“Joanna, this has nothing to do with you.”
I felt a strange calm settle over me.
“You left me
