The monitor beside my bed gave a sharp, frantic beep as my heart rate spiked. Another contraction seized my lower abdomen, radiating around my back like a band of heated iron.

Trent’s face was the color of wet chalk.

His mouth opened, but no sound came out. His hands hung limp at his sides, trembling visibly.

Chelsea gasped, stepping back against the foot of my bed. "Trent... how long have you been—"

"He was standing in the hall with me," Dr. Ross said coldly, stepping into the room. "He came to administration to file an official complaint against me. I agreed to meet him here under security supervision to show him the time-stamped call logs from my carrier."

Ethan held up a printed sheet of paper.

"My call at seven-thirty last night was to Claire Davies, my fiancée. Total duration: two minutes and fourteen seconds. Audio was recorded by her vehicle Bluetooth. She is an attorney with the county prosecutor's office, and she has already provided an affidavit confirming that Natalie Hastings was never mentioned except as an emergency medical admission."

Ethan looked at Trent, his eyes completely devoid of mercy.

"You accused a physician of malpractice, you endangered your wife's emergency delivery, and you abandoned your premature children in critical care based on the word of a sociopath."

Trent looked from Ethan to Chelsea. The horror dawning in his eyes was absolute.

"You told me..." Trent whispered, his voice cracking into pieces. "You told me you heard him. You swore to me on your mother's grave that you heard him bragging about Natalie."

Chelsea’s poise began to fracture. She took a step toward Trent, her hands reaching out in supplication. "Trent, listen to me. I was trying to open your eyes. You know how unhappy you've been! She was going to trap you forever with those babies—"

"Shut up," Trent choked out.

"Trent, please—"

"Shut your damn mouth!" he roared, lunging forward with such sudden violence that the security guard immediately grabbed his shoulder to hold him back. "You set me up! You made me look at my wife like she was a whore! You made me abandon my children!"

"You let me!" Chelsea screamed back, her veneer completely shattering into ugly, desperate rage. "You wanted to believe it! Don't you dare put this all on me, Trent Ward! You were looking for a way out because you're terrified of being a father! I just handed you the match—you're the one who lit it!"

The room fell dead silent.

Only the rhythmic, mechanical hum of the IV pump beside my bed remained.

Mallory stepped forward and pointed at the door. "Security. Remove her. Now. If she ever comes within a hundred yards of my sister or those babies, we are filing a restraining order and pressing harassment charges with the digital transcripts."

The security guard took Chelsea firmly by the elbow. "Ma'am. Walk."

Chelsea snatched her arm away, adjusting her sweater with trembling, furious hands. She glared at me, then at Trent, who looked like a man who had just watched his entire house burn down while holding the can of gasoline.

"You deserve each other," she hissed, and walked out into the corridor.

The heavy door clicked shut behind her.

Trent stood alone in the center of the room. He slowly turned his head to look at me. His knees seemed to buckle, and he sank onto the edge of the empty visitor chair, burying his face in his hands.

Heavy, ragged sobs tore from his chest, shaking his broad shoulders.

"Natalie," he weeped into his palms. "My God... Natalie, what did I do? What did I do?"

I looked at him from the hospital bed.

I felt no satisfaction. I felt no triumph.

I only felt an immense, empty stillness.