“And if we don’t ignore it?” I asked. “What if we call—and everything falls apart?”

My voice cracked, because this wasn’t hypothetical anymore. It could all collapse in minutes.

He stared at his phone like it held every possible future.

“I’d rather face a painful truth than live a comfortable lie,” he said finally.

I closed my eyes briefly.

“Not me,” I whispered. “Not if that truth means losing her.”

That was the moment I understood—we weren’t just facing a problem.

We were standing on opposite sides of a choice.

Truth… or her.

Ethan picked up his phone.

And without thinking, I reached out and stopped him.

“Give me one night,” I said. “Just one.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“To be with her,” I answered. “To know if I can let her go.”

The words hurt more than I expected—because deep down, I already knew the answer.

I couldn’t.

I just couldn’t.

He studied me for a long moment.

“One night won’t change the facts,” he said.

“No,” I replied softly. “But it might change what we’re willing to do about them.”

Silence settled again—heavier this time.

Then slowly, he lowered the phone and set it back on the table.

“One night,” he agreed.

It wasn’t relief.

It was a pause.

We didn’t sleep.

We took turns holding Lily, feeding her, watching every tiny movement like we were trying to memorize her.

Every second made it harder.

But the doubt never fully left. It lingered, quiet and relentless.

By morning, pale light filled the room.

Ethan sat on the couch, eyes red, holding her with a gentleness that hadn’t been there the night before.

He looked at her like he was trying to make a decision that had no right answer.

I walked over slowly.

“What are we going to do?” I asked.

He looked up at me—and for the first time, I saw more than fear.

I saw something deeper.

“I don’t know,” he said.

And somehow, that was the only honest answer left.

Because in that moment, we both understood something we had been trying to avoid:

There was no right choice.

Only one choice—

And a lifetime of living with it.