Katrina pov
The door slammed shut and took my air with it.
The vibrations rattled through the heavy mahogany framing, shuddering down into the marble beneath my knees. I collapsed onto the cold stone, both hands flying to my stomach in a frantic, defensive reflex.
Two weeks. Just two weeks since the sterile white walls of the hospital clinic, since Cove’s hands shook so hard he almost dropped the printout when he saw the ultrasound. *“Our son,”* he’d whispered, his voice cracking with a reverence that had made me cry. He had dropped to his knees right there on the linoleum, pressing his hot forehead against my flat stomach. *“Thank you, babe. Thank you.”*
My son. Cove’s son. Not Theo’s. Never Theo’s. The absolute purity of that moment was supposed to be our armor, but now the memory f
