You’d been pacing that cold hospital hallway, heart in your throat, waiting for Lip. They wouldn’t let you in the delivery room—“only family”—and that stung, but not as much as the fear did. You knew Karen. You knew. Still, you prayed it wasn’t what you thought.

Then the door opened.

Lip stepped out, scrub cap still on, eyes wild, jaw clenched like he was holding in a scream. His hands were shaking. You rushed to him.

“Lip—what happened?”

He didn’t answer. Just stood there, frozen, staring through you. Then he said it, voice rough, raw.

“The baby’s not mine.”

The words hit like a gut punch.

“What?”

“He’s Chinese,” Lip said, laughing like it was a joke—like it had to be. “Karen… she said she was screwing Timmy Wong the same time as me. Said she never told me it was mine. That I just assumed.”

You blinked. “But… she let you think—”

“She wanted me to think it!” he snapped. “She let me buy baby clothes, pick names, stay up at night wondering what kind of dad I’d be. And the whole time? She knew.”

His voice cracked. “She looked me in the eye and said I just wanted it to be mine. That I made it up.”

You could see him unraveling, coming apart at the seams. His whole face twisted, eyes glassy. “I would’ve done it. I would’ve raised him. I loved her. I thought maybe if I gave her everything, she’d stop treating me like garbage.”

You swallowed hard. “She used you, Lip.”

“She broke me,” he whispered. “And I let her.”

He turned away…