The Room At The End Of The Hall

Owen radioed for an ambulance first, because the baby’s breathing looked shallow and his little chest rose as if every breath required work, and then he asked Juni a question that felt both necessary and impossible.

“Can I hold Rowan for a minute, just so I can help him?”

She hesitated, because she had been the only one holding him together for days, and letting go probably felt like stepping off the edge of a cliff, but finally she transferred the baby into Owen’s arms with the careful seriousness of someone handing over something priceless.

Rowan weighed almost nothing.

That fact hit Owen so hard it made his stomach drop, because even without a scale he could tell this was far from typical, and while he held the baby close to his chest, he forced his voice to stay steady.

“You stay right here, okay? The medics are coming, and we’re going to take care of him.”

Then he walked down the hallway, opened the last door, and found a woman on the bed fully dressed, her shoes still on, her hair messy against the pillow, and her face marked by deep shadows of exhaustion, as if sleep had been the only place she could fall without being asked to stand back up.

He touched her shoulder and spoke firmly.

“Ma’am. You need to wake up.”

Her eyes snapped open in confusion that turned instantly into fear when she saw the uniform, and she sat up too fast, blinking hard as if the room wouldn’t stay still.

“What—what happened?” she gasped. “Where’s Juni? Where’s my baby?”

“They’re taking him to the hospital,” Owen said, watching her expression crumble as the words sank in, “and we’re going too.”

The Hospital That Didn’t Feel Quiet

Briar Glen Community Hospital was small, which meant the halls were narrow and the waiting room chairs were hard, and the lights always seemed a little too bright for people who hadn’t slept, yet the staff moved with a kind of practiced urgency that made Owen grateful even while his chest stayed tight.