Sweat beads along my brow, slipping down my temples. My fingers clutch the side rails so hard my knuckles ache.

And there he is. Dr. Jake Dresden.

The man who doesn’t know he’s about to deliver his own child.

He stands at the foot of the bed, tall and composed in his scrubs, the calm at the center of the storm. His cap shadows the edge of his eyes, but nothing can mute the steady authority in his voice.

“Deep breath. Hold it. Now push.”

I push. Because there’s no other choice.

Jake doesn’t see me—not really. His gaze passes over my face with practiced indifference. No flicker of recognition. No change in tone.

He is controlled. Professional. Completely unaware.

Of me.

Of us.

The pain rises again, sharp and all-consuming. The nurse squeezes my hand, murmuring soothing words I barely register. All I can hear is his voice. All I can feel is his presence, thick in the air, wrapping around my ribs like a second contraction.

And then—

A cry.

High. Piercing. Beautiful.

Jake steps forward, reaching out with expert hands to guide the baby into the world. But something shifts the moment she touches his skin. His movements slow. His breath catches. He lifts her into his arms, and time stops.

He doesn’t speak.

He doesn’t smile.

He just stares.

Not like a doctor checking vitals. But like a man seeing something he never expected. Never dared to imagine.

She lets out another cry, and Jake instinctively adjusts his hold, supporting her head with a tenderness that carves a hollow straight through my chest.

Then—he looks at me.

Really looks at me.

And the world stops spinning.

Our eyes lock, and the air between us pulses with something too sharp to name.

His lips part. His gaze drops back to the baby. Then rises to me again.

His hands tremble—so subtly I almost miss it.

But I see it.

Because I know him.

Because he knows her.

My throat tightens, and before I can stop myself, I reach out—my fingertips brushing the inside of his wrist.

“You’re holding your daughter, Jake,” I whisper, the words breaking as they leave me. “She belongs to you.”