But the truth was written plainly across his face.

He sank into the chair beside her bed as though the weight of it had become too much to stand under. Then he began to speak, slow and careful, each word freighted with years of regret.

Julian had been estranged from the family for years, he said, after a bitter argument about expectations and responsibility. His wife — Judith — had died six months ago, heartbroken, still hoping their son would come home.

“Every Sunday she set an extra place at the table,” he said. “She believed he’d walk through that door again someday.”

Abigail held her baby closer as she listened. The story felt unreal, two separate lives colliding in a single moment.

Then the doctor asked how she’d met Julian, and she told him. The café where they met. The way he’d been charming and attentive. How easily she’d trusted him.