Leo’s health comes first. We will attend his scheduled follow-up. Any paternity testing will happen only if the pediatrician confirms he is stable enough, and it will be done through a documented facility of my choosing. All related communication should remain in writing.
He replied almost at once.
Fine. Send the address.
That was when I understood something important.
He was not used to being denied.
But he was beginning to understand that this time, denial would not be dramatic.
It would be procedural.
And procedural was a language men like Ethan could not easily dismiss.
The clinic smelled like lemon disinfectant and clean floors.
I had chosen it because it was private, organized, and set up for pediatric follow-ups without overcrowding. Mostly, though, I had chosen it because it had a reputation for documentation. I wanted every word spoken that day to end up in a chart.
Maya drove.
I sat in the back with Leo bundled against my chest in two layers, a knit cap, and a blanket tucked around him like a fortress. Every stoplight made me anxious. Every gust of wind when Maya opened the car door made my shoulders tense.
Ethan was already there when we arrived.