Rain poured relentlessly, drenching the windshield of Damian Arman's car parked in front of the hospital. The wipers had long stopped moving, letting the mist and rain blur his view. Still, his eyes remained fixed on a fifth-floor window—the room where Joe was being treated. The curtain had briefly swayed earlier, revealing the silhouette of Shopia and the child.
Damian rubbed his temples. His anger hadn’t subsided since their earlier confrontation. Shopia’s words still echoed in his ears:
“I will never give my child to you, Damian!”
He wanted to laugh—and scream. That child was his flesh and blood, so why did everyone treat him like the enemy?
Damian was about to step out of the car when an old vehicle pulled up at the hospital entrance. A man stepped out, wearing a faded uniform with
