Ethan finished his work with professional tenderness, but neither of us spoke beyond what was necessary. Linda stayed close, explaining each step, reminding me that Maya was in good hands.
When it was over, when the room had been cleaned and the lights softened and my body felt hollow and heavy, Linda brought me ice water and tucked the blanket higher around my waist.
“You did wonderfully,” she said.
I nodded, too tired to answer.
Ethan stood near the sink, washing his hands even though they were already clean.
His shoulders were tense.
“You should go,” I said.
He turned.
“To Maya,” I added.
“I want to,” he said. “But I also need to talk to you.”
“About the paperwork?”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
Linda glanced between us.
“I’ll step out for a few minutes,” she said. “Press the call button if you need anything.”
When the door closed behind her, the silence that followed felt larger than the room.
Ethan approached slowly and stopped beside my bed.
For a moment, he looked like the young resident I had fallen in love with, exhausted and uncertain beneath all his training.
“What did the file say?” I asked.
He exhaled.
“There was a note attached to your prenatal records. It wasn’t just about antibodies.”
I waited.
“The note said your emergency contact had requested restricted release of certain information.”
“My emergency contact?”
“Yes.”
“That’s impossible. I didn’t list anyone except my aunt.”
“What’s your aunt’s name?”
“Marianne Lewis.”
Ethan’s face changed.
“That isn’t the name on the note.”
A chill moved through me.
“What name?”
He looked almost afraid to say it.
“Vivian Chen.”
For a second, I thought I had misheard him.
Then the name landed.
His mother.
My former mother-in-law.
The woman who had once rearranged my kitchen cabinets while I was at work because she said Ethan preferred things a certain way.
The woman who cried when we did not spend every Sunday at her house.
The woman who smiled at me during family dinners while somehow making me feel like a guest in my own marriage.
“No,” I said.
Ethan’s jaw tightened.
“That’s what it says.”
“She is not my emergency contact.”
“I know.”
“I haven’t spoken to your mother in months.”
“I know.”
“Then why is her name in my hospital file?”
He had no answer.
And that scared me more than anything he could have said.
I pushed myself higher against the pillows, wincing.
“Did she know?”
“Know what?”
“That I was pregnant.”
Ethan hesitated.
My chest tightened.
“Ethan.”
“I don’t know.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the only honest one I have.”
I stared at him, searching his face for the familiar evasions. The small pauses he used to make when he knew his mother had crossed a line but was not ready to admit it.
But this was different.
He looked stunned.
