The air in the room felt suffocating.
“Do you love him?” Michael asked before he could stop himself.
Elena broke down.
“With everything I am. But love doesn’t cover rent. It doesn’t pay for insulin. It doesn’t keep a baby warm at night. He deserves more than this.”
Michael shut his eyes.
He had once sacrificed the idea of fatherhood for boardrooms and business deals. Over time, he’d convinced himself he was fine without it.
But watching a mother prepare to give up her child — not from lack of love, but because she loved him too much — cracked something inside him.
“How long do you have?” he asked.
“Forty-seven hours. Monday at 2:00 p.m.”
Forty-seven hours.
Less than two days before a child would lose his mother over a sum Michael might casually spend at a business dinner.
“Go home,” he said abruptly. “Spend the weekend with your son. Don’t sign anything until we talk Monday morning.”
She stared at him, uncertain.
“Why?”
He didn’t have a refined answer.
“Because I can’t pretend I didn’t see this.”
That evening, Michael sat alone in his living room. The Italian leather couch felt unusually cold. He researched medical expenses, diabetes care, infant costs.
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