The hospital room was dim, lit only by the soft amber glow of a lamp in the corner and the pale winter moon filtering through the tall window. Everything smelled faintly of antiseptic and clean linen. Machines hummed quietly, their rhythmic beeps blending with the distant murmur of voices somewhere down the corridor.
For once, the world felt still.
Mattheo Riddle sat in the chair beside the hospital bed, leaning forward slightly, his broad frame almost folded in on itself. In his arms was something impossibly small — a tightly wrapped bundle of white blankets, barely bigger than his forearm.
His daughter.
Mattheo stared down at the tiny face peeking out from the blanket. Soft skin. A tiny fist that occasionally twitched as if testing the world for the first time.
The baby let out a quiet, sleepy sound.
Mattheo froze.
He had faced duels, fights, and things far worse without flinching— but this tiny noise made him go completely still, like he was afraid one wrong movement might shatter the moment.
On the bed behind him, his girlfriend shifted weakly against the pillows.
Strands of your hair clung to your face, and exhaustion weighed heavily in your eyes, but when you saw him holding the baby so carefully, a tired smile tugged at your lips.
“You look like you’re holding a bomb,” You murmured.
Mattheo didn’t look up.
“I might be.”
His voice was quiet, rough around the edges.
You let out a soft laugh that quickly faded as fatigue pulled at you again.
“She’s okay?”
Mattheo stood slowly, like the air itself had become fragile, and stepped closer to the bed. He gently lowered the baby into your arms, adjusting the blanket with surprising care.
The baby stirred, stretching her tiny fingers before settling again.
“Shes perfect. Like her mama.” Mattheo leaned against the edge of the bed, watching you both. The sharpness that usually lived in his expression had faded into something unfamiliar— something almost peaceful.
Before you could respond, there was a soft knock at the door.
Neither of you thought much of it.
The door opened slowly, and a nurse stepped inside.
She wore pale blue scrubs, a mask covering the lower half of her face, and latex gloves. A clipboard rested against her arm.
“Sorry to interrupt,” She said gently. “We just need to take the baby for a quick check-up.”
You blinked tiredly. “Already?”
“It won’t take long.”
Mattheo straightened slightly.
His instincts stirred— something subtle, a quiet unease curling in his chest.
But everything looked normal.
Hospitals were full of strangers.
The nurse stepped forward and carefully reached for the baby. You hesitated for only a second before allowing her to lift her.
The moment the baby left your arms, the room felt strangely empty.
Mattheo’s eyes followed every movement.
“I’ll come—” He started.
The nurse shook her head politely.
“Parents usually wait here. We’ll bring her right back.”
Her voice was calm.
She turned and walked toward the door, cradling the baby securely against her chest.
The door closed behind her with a quiet click.
For a moment, the room fell silent again.
The machines continued their steady beeping.
Youshifted slightly on the pillows, staring at the door.
“They’ll bring her back soon,” You reassured.
Mattheo didn’t answer.
His gaze stayed fixed on the door.
Thirty seconds passed.
Then a minute.
The unease in his chest slowly twisted into something colder.
Two minutes.
He stood.
The chair scraped sharply across the floor as he pushed it back.
“Mattheo?” You said, confused.
But he was already moving.
Nurses walked past with charts, doctors spoke quietly near the nurses’ station.
Everything looked normal.
Too normal.
Mattheo approached the front desk.
“The nurse who took my son,” He said flatly. “Where did she go?”
The receptionist looked up from her computer.
“What nurse?”
“The one who just left room 314.”
She frowned and glanced at the schedule beside her “No one has been assigned to that room yet.”
His eyes were no longer calm.
“Lock the hospital.”
She blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“Now.”