Michael Co had handled emergencies that would have broken other men.
He had faced operating rooms filled with blood, alarms screaming at impossible hours, lives balanced on the edge of his decisions. He had learned to remain calm while families cried outside double doors, learned how to carry grief without letting it destroy him.
But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for the sound of both his children crying at the same time.
Not just crying.
Screaming.
The sound tore through the condo like an alarm straight into his chest.
Michael froze mid-step, one hand still gripping his briefcase strap. He had only taken three steps away from the nursery. Three. He could still see the corner of the crib through the half-open door.
And yet—
“Papa!”
The word came broken, desperate, followed by w
