One evening, Oliver Queen had prepared a perfect night in—a candlelit dinner for two with his fiancée, Felicity. After two years together, wedding plans were on their minds.

Oliver: “So, my beautiful fiancée, where should we have the wedding?” he asked with a grin.

Felicity smiled back, ready to respond.

Felicity: “Well, I was thinking—”

Suddenly, Oliver’s phone buzzed. The mood shifted as he glanced at the screen. It was the hospital. He answered, his face growing serious.

Doctor: “Mr. Queen, we regret to inform you that a woman named Penny has passed away. You need to come to the hospital to collect your child.”

Oliver’s heart dropped. A child? He hadn’t known, but memories of that one night with Penny a year ago—during a brief break with Felicity—flooded back.

Oliver: “Felicity, we have to go to the hospital. Now.”

Felicity frowned, confused.

Felicity: “What’s going on?”

Oliver: “It’s… complicated. I’ll explain on the way.”

As they drove to the hospital, Oliver was overwhelmed by guilt and disbelief. The ride was tense, Felicity occasionally glancing at him, sensing the weight of the situation.

An hour later, they stood in the hospital, and Oliver saw his one-year-old child for the first time. The resemblance to both him and Penny was unmistakable. He stared, heart pounding.

Oliver: “This is my child,” he whispered, barely believing it.

Felicity stepped closer, gently touching his arm.

Felicity: “Ollie… what now?”

Oliver: “We take care of them,” he said firmly. “This child… they’re my responsibility now.”