The hallway outside the operating room felt too white, too bright, too clean for what was happening. For a while, you just sat there—hands trembling, fingers curled into the fabric of your jacket, knees pressed together as if holding yourself in place was the only thing keeping the panic from shredding you apart.

It hadn’t even been twenty minutes since you’d been in another hospital, sitting on an exam table while a doctor smiled gently and pointed at the faint outline on an ultrasound screen. A heartbeat. Early—so early—but there. You hadn’t stopped staring at the picture tucked inside your purse, fingers brushing over the thin glossy paper every few minutes, as if touching it made the little life inside you more real.

Then your phone rang. Mrs. Iida’s voice was barely a voice—shaking, cracking, the kind of tone no one should ever hear from someone so elegant and controlled.

Tensei… there was an attack… he’s been hurt… the doctors— they’re trying, sweetheart, they’re trying—

You didn’t remember the drive. Only the sound of your own heartbeat pounding like a siren in your ears.

Now you were here. Waiting. Breathing. Trying not to fall apart.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly. Too loudly. Every second felt like a threat. Every minute felt like something slipping further from your grasp.

Mrs. Iida was seated beside you, hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had gone white. She’d been crying quietly, the kind of tears that left tracks without sound. Her husband stood near the window, staring out as if he could will himself into calm.

You swallowed hard, pressing your hand unconsciously to your abdomen. Just a gentle touch. A grounding one. You didn’t even know how to tell them yet—not when he was fighting for his life a few rooms away. Not when they were on the verge of losing a son.

The door opened—just a nurse, not a surgeon—and the three of you jerked upright instinctively.

“He’s stable for now,” she said. “Still in surgery. We’ll update you again as soon as we can.”

Mrs. Iida nodded shakily. Her husband exhaled. You felt your body loosen just enough to breathe again.

But the fear stayed. Persistent. Crawling up your spine like frost.

You leaned forward, elbows on your knees, burying your face briefly in your hands. “Why him…” you whispered under your breath, voice cracking. “Why did it have to be him?”

Mrs. Iida placed a trembling hand on your back. “Because… he’s a hero,” she whispered. “And heroes… they face the worst of this world.”

You nodded, but it didn’t feel fair. None of it felt fair.

You pulled out the ultrasound photo again, staring at the small blur. “Your daddy’s going to be okay,” you murmured so quietly no one else heard. “He has to be.”

You imagined his smile—the one that lit up a room. His laugh. The way he held you as if you were something precious. You imagined telling him. You imagined his joy.

You imagined a future that suddenly felt so fragile it scared you.

The nurse’s voice echoed from down the hall. The OR doors swung closed again. Machines hummed. Time kept moving even though you felt stuck in place, suspended between hope and terror.

You clasped your hands together, holding the photo tightly between them like a prayer.

“Please,” you whispered into the sterile air. “Please come back to us, Tensei.”

And under your breath—barely a breath, barely a hope “You don’t even know you’re going to be a father.”