The Warning
On the fifth morning, a nurse named Elena Morales brought Noah to my room. She smiled for Ryan’s camera, then whispered her warning and sent the video.
When Ryan left for coffee, I watched it: Ryan speaking to a woman in a suit, an incubator behind the glass. “My wife can never know he survived,” he said. “Use the insurance signature — say he died in delivery.” On the incubator card: Baby B — Owen.
He was alive.
