As he turned to leave, he didn’t see the dark SUV parked across the street with its headlights off. He didn’t notice the man inside watching through tinted glass.
And he definitely didn’t know that the child in his arms was never meant to survive the night.
PART 2
The hospital staff stared when Rhett stormed through the emergency room doors, snow melting from his boots, leather soaked, tattoos visible beneath rolled sleeves.
“I need help,” he barked.
A nurse hesitated. “Sir—”
“She’s freezing.”
That was all it took.
Doctors rushed the baby into a trauma bay. Rhett stood outside, arms crossed, jaw tight, watching through the glass as they worked. Heating lamps. IV lines. Oxygen. The baby’s cries grew stronger with warmth, echoing down the corridor.
A pediatric nurse approached him cautiously. “Are you the father?”
Rhett didn’t answer immediately.
