Vincent's POV
I sat in the chair beside Ella's bed, watching her sleep. By the time I had arrived, she had already been sedated—four hours gone that I would never get back. I hadn't moved from her side since then, and I didn't intend to. Leaving felt wrong, like another failure added to a growing list I couldn't erase.
The other crib was a few feet away.
I didn't look at it for long. I didn't need to.
The weight of it pressed into my chest all the same—heavy, suffocating. There was no rush of instinct, no bond snapping into place, no cry that should have filled the room and anchored me to the moment.
I dragged a hand through my hair, frustration simmering beneath my skin. I should have been here. That truth replayed itself relentlessly, no matter how many reasons I tried to justify my absence with. She had gone through the pain alone. The fear. And then the grief—without me.
That was what tore at me the most.
