Chapter 1: The Man in the Hallway

A buddy from med school gave me a heads-up—Savannah’s due date was almost here. So I hit the road and drove all night from Ohio, back to Maple Heights and the hospital where it all started.

The drive was long—the kind where the radio fades to static, and the highway lights blur together. Still, the thought of seeing Savannah—seeing our baby—kept me awake. Maple Heights always had that early morning smell—cut grass and rain, you know? As I pulled into the hospital parking lot, the air felt heavy with anticipation.

As I passed an operating room, a woman’s screams cut through the hallway, sharp and relentless.

The sound echoed down the linoleum hallway, sharp and raw, the kind of sound that makes you want to turn away or run in to help, even if you don’t know the person. It was primal—unmistakable, unforgettable. The kind of sound that stays with you.

"Babe, babe... I’m scared. Babe, will you hold my hand?"

That voice stopped me cold. My stomach dropped.

It was Savannah’s voice—trembling, desperate. A sound I’d never heard from her before.

When it was finally over, the delivery room doors swung open. I saw her clearly—the woman being wheeled out was my wife, Savannah Lee.

She looked so small under the hospital blankets, her hair damp with sweat, but her eyes—man, her eyes were searching for someone. I held my breath, waiting for her to look my way, but she never did.

And there, gripping her hand at her bedside, was her cousin—Tyler Morgan.

Tyler was in his old Ohio State hoodie, looking like he belonged right there beside her. His fingers were laced with hers, knuckles white, like he was holding on for dear life.

I ducked behind the emergency exit, pressed my back against the cold cinderblock wall. Watched as the nurse gently handed the baby to Tyler.

My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped my car keys. The smell of antiseptic mixed with fresh coffee from the nurses’ station. But honestly, all I could focus on was the scene unfolding in front of me.

"Congrats, sir. It’s a baby girl."

The nurse’s voice was gentle, almost reverent, as she placed the tiny bundle in Tyler’s arms. Like this was some kind of sacred moment.

Tyler didn’t even look at the baby, just gripped Savannah’s pale hand like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

He pressed her hand to his lips. His eyes never left her face. The baby whimpered, but Tyler barely seemed to notice—he was too lost in Savannah.

"Thanks, but right now, my wife’s all that matters."

His words were soft, but they echoed in the hallway. I felt the sting, sharp as a slap.

Savannah’s eyes were red, tears brimming as she stared up at Tyler. That look—it burned.

She looked at him like he was the only person in the world. For a second, I thought she might break down. Instead, she smiled—a shaky, luminous smile that made her whole face glow.

"Babe… I always knew I’d be number one in your heart, right?"

Her voice was barely a whisper, but I heard every word. It was like a knife, twisting in my gut.

She forced herself up and pressed a soft kiss to Tyler’s forehead. My heart sank.

The gesture was intimate. Familiar. Something I hadn’t seen from her in years. Tyler closed his eyes, savoring the moment.

It was the picture of warmth and intimacy. And I was on the outside looking in.

The nurse, standing nearby, caught my eye and gave a little smile. Like she was witnessing something beautiful. The world seemed to pause for them.

Too bad I wasn’t the leading man, huh?

I felt like an extra in my own life. Just standing in the wings while someone else played my part.

The nurse, eyes shining, wiped away a tear. She even clapped, soft and quiet, like she was at a wedding.

She glanced at the other nurses, whispering, "That’s so sweet. Never seen a husband ignore the baby and just focus on his wife before."

"Wish I could find a guy who loves me like that," one of them sighed.

A couple of the younger nurses giggled, nudging each other. I shrank further into the shadows. Wished I could disappear.

A chill crept up my fingers and crawled into my chest. God, I started to shake.

My breaths came shallow. My vision tunneled. The world felt colder, smaller—like I was shrinking inside my own skin.

I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady myself. But the ache wouldn’t go away.