"Put her back in the car! The police will ask questions!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Carter."

The surgeon paused for a brief moment, choosing his words with the care of someone who had delivered heartbreaking news too many times.

"Your wife survived the surgery."

Ethan released a shaky breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"But..."

The single word froze him in place.

"We couldn't save your son."

The hallway became eerily silent. Ethan heard nothing except the dull ringing in his ears.

"No..." he whispered.

The surgeon lowered his eyes. "The trauma caused a placental abruption. By the time she arrived, there was simply too much damage."

Ethan leaned against the wall, his knees threatening to give out. Just yesterday, he had been assembling a crib in the nursery. Emily had laughed at his crooked attempt to hang a mobile above it.

Now the nursery would remain empty.

Across the hallway, Margaret covered her mouth and began to cry.

"Oh, my God... I never meant—"

"Stop."

Ethan's voice was quiet, but it carried enough force to silence her instantly.

"Don't cry for him now."

She stepped toward him.

"Ethan, please. We can fix this. We'll tell everyone she fell. We have lawyers. We have people who can—"

"We?"

He looked at her with eyes emptied of warmth.

"There is no 'we' anymore."

At that moment, two uniformed police officers entered the lobby, followed by Detective Sarah Monroe, a woman in her early forties with calm eyes that missed nothing.

She approached Ethan first.

"Mr. Carter, I'm sorry for your loss."

He nodded stiffly.

"Your wife is still unconscious, but we need to ask what happened."

Before Ethan could answer, Margaret quickly stepped forward.

"It was an accident," she said. "Emily slipped on the stairs."

Detective Monroe didn't respond immediately.

Instead, she glanced toward a hospital security officer who had just arrived carrying a small evidence envelope.

"Detective," the officer said, "we've secured the surveillance footage from the Carter Foundation building."