CATRIONA

The antiseptic scent of the hospital clung to everything—walls, sheets, even the air I tried to breathe. I sat stiffly beside the bed, my hand wrapped around Abriel’s tiny one. His skin was warm but too still, his chest rising and falling with the aid of machines that hummed and beeped in cruel rhythm. I fucking hate hospitals, I muttered before breathing in and out to calm my trembling ass down.

My baby.

Tubes threaded from his arm, his forehead wrapped in gauze where they’d placed a line. He looked so small, too small, against the white sheets.

I leaned forward, pressing my forehead to the back of his...