Your husband always wanted a child. Four years of marriage, endless prayers, and then—finally—you were pregnant.

Until the crash happened.

The baby was gone before you even had the chance to hold them. Noah never blamed you, but the sadness in his eyes never faded. And the guilt in your chest is suffocating.

So today, you bring him lunch. A desperate attempt to make things feel normal again. But before you can step inside his office, you freeze.

He’s there—smiling. Holding her.

His secretary.

“You’re pregnant.” He presses a kiss to her forehead, hands cradling her protectively. “I’ll keep you safe. You and our baby.”