Chapter Seventeen
Harrison
The waiting room of the maternity ward smelled of industrial bleach and old magazines. Harrison sat in a plastic chair that dug into his lower back, staring at the muted television mounted on the wall.
It had been fourteen hours since Emily’s water broke. Fourteen hours since she had looked at him in the triage room, her face contorted in pain, and told the nurses, "Keep him out. I don't want him in there. He stresses me out."
So, he waited.
He had paced the linoleum floor until his shoes squeaked.
He had drank five cups of vending machine coffee.
He had spent the entire night wrestling with the ghost of his conscience.
This is it, he had told himself over and over.
When they hand you that boy, it will all make sense.
The divorce, the poverty, the misery. You will look at your son, and you will find a reason to live.
It was his only lifeline. The idea of being a father was the only thing keeping him from driving his car off a bridge. He had sacrificed the love of his life for this child.
"Mr. Miller?"
Harrison’s head snapped up. A nurse in blue scrubs stood in the doorway, offering a tired smile. "She’s ready for you. Room 412."
Harrison stood up, his legs feeling like lead. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. This was the moment. The transition from adulterer to father.
He walked down the sterile, brightly lit hallway, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He pushed the heavy wooden door of Room 412 open.
Emily was sitting up in the hospital bed.
She looked exhausted, her blonde hair matted with sweat, but there was a strange, manic brightness in her eyes.
She wasn't looking at the small bundle wrapped in a striped blanket in the plastic bassinet beside her.
She was looking at the door, waiting for him.
"Hey," Harrison whispered, his voice cracking. He stepped into the room, his eyes immediately drawn to the bassinet. "Is he... is he okay?"
"He's perfectly healthy," Emily said. Her voice was flat. There was no warmth in it. No maternal glow.
Harrison took a step toward the crib. He could see a tuft of dark hair, a tiny, sleeping face. A surge of overwhelming emotion—terror, awe, and a desperate, clinging love—rose in his throat. He reached out a trembling hand to touch the baby's blanket.
"Don't," Emily snapped.
Harrison froze, his hand hovering in mid-air. He looked up at her, confused. "What? Emily, he's my—"
"He's not."
The room went completely silent. The hum of the heart monitor seemed to stop. The traffic outside the window ceased.
Harrison stared at her, his brain refusing to process the two syllables. "What did you say?"
"I said, don't touch him," Emily repeated, shifting her weight against the pillows, her expression turning terrifyingly cold. "He isn't yours, Harrison."
Harrison let out a short, breathless laugh, stepping back. "Emily, you just gave birth. You're exhausted. You don't know what you're saying."
"I know exactly what I'm saying," she replied, her eyes locking onto his with a predatory calm. "I’ve known since the day I took the test. The math never really worked for you. But you were so guilty, so desperate to do the 'right thing,' you didn't even question it."
Harrison grabbed the railing of the hospital bed, his knuckles turning white. The floor felt like it was tilting. "You're lying. You showed me the tests. You said—"
"I said what I had to say," Emily interrupted, her voice hardening. "Do you think you were the only one I was sleeping with, Harrison? Please. You were a fun distraction in the basement, but you were married to my sister. You were a dead end."
Harrison couldn't breathe. The air in the room had turned to glass, shredding his lungs with every inhale. "Who?" he choked out.
"Someone else," Emily said dismissively, picking at her fingernails. "Someone who actually has money. Someone who isn't a disgraced, unemployed delivery driver. But when I found out I was pregnant, he was... out of the country. I couldn't reach him. He changed his number. I panicked."
She looked at Harrison, her lips curving into a cruel, pitying smile.
"I needed a safety net, Harry. I had no money, Michael had kicked me out, and I needed someone to pay the rent and buy the crib. You were right there. So incredibly easy to manipulate. All I had to do was cry and remind you of your vows, and you rolled over like a dog."
"You trapped me," Harrison whispered, tears of absolute, profound horror spilling over his eyelashes. "I lost Sarah. I lost my career. I lost my house. I gave up everything for a child that isn't even mine?"
"You lost Sarah because you couldn't keep your pants zipped," Emily corrected sharply. "Don't put that on me. You made your choices. But yes, the baby isn't yours."
Harrison backed away from the bed, his hands clutching his head. He was spiraling. The anchor he had tied to his own neck to survive the ocean of his guilt had just turned to smoke. He had destroyed his life—he had destroyed Sarah's life—for absolutely nothing. A lie. A convenience.
"Why are you telling me now?" Harrison yelled, the rage finally breaking through the shock. "Why let me sign the lease? Why let me sit in that waiting room all night?"
"Because I finally got in touch with him last week," Emily said, her smugness returning. "I sent him the ultrasound. He flew back. He wants to be a father. He’s going to take care of us. Which means I don't need my safety net anymore."
She pointed to the door. "So, you can leave now. Go back to the apartment, pack your duffel bag, and get out before the end of the month. We're done."
Harrison stood paralyzed, vibrating with a rage so complete it blinded him. He wanted to scream. He wanted to flip the bed. He was a hollowed-out shell of a man, gutted by the woman he had sacrificed his soul for.
Before he could open his mouth to speak, the heavy wooden door of Room 412 clicked and slowly swung open.
Heavy, confident footsteps stepped into the room. The scent of expensive cologne cut through the sterile hospital air.
Emily’s face lit up with a brilliant, genuine smile—a smile she had never once directed at Harrison. "You made it," she cooed.
Harrison turned his head slowly, his eyes tracking from the floor, up a pair of tailored suit pants, to the face of the man walking into the room.
The man stopped, looking from Emily to Harrison.
Harrison’s heart stopped dead in his chest. All the blood drained from his face. His jaw went slack, and his eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing disbelief.
"You?" Harrison breathed.
To be continued in Beautiful Ruins