I saw the realization dawn in Ethan’s eyes. The soldier he’d mourned was my husband. The “mistake” he’d mocked was his friend’s child.

That broke him. He lunged—toward me, toward the baby.

“I’ll kill you both!” he screamed, spitting in my face.

I froze, stunned, until my father-in-law’s hand shot out, clamping Ethan’s wrist inches from the bassinet. Ethan flailed, elbowing me square in the stomach, sending searing pain through my incision.

The nurse—Kylie, her badge read—slammed the red alarm button. Sirens blared.

Security stormed in. Ethan shouted threats as they fought to restrain him, knocking over the IV stand. He raged, spewing venom, while five men wrestled him to the ground. My father-in-law never let go of his wrist.

A new man entered, commanding the room with authority—Cameron Banks, head of hospital security. “Everyone out except medical staff!” he barked.

My parents and the others hesitated until he repeated himself. They dragged Ethan away, his voice echoing down the corridor.

Cameron turned to Kylie. “Take the baby to the nursery—safety check.”

My stomach dropped. She whisked the bassinet away before I could react. I tried to rise, but pain forced me back. Blood seeped through my bandage. Kylie hurried back, checking the wound.

“Some stitches tore,” she said softly. She photographed everything for documentation—it was now a police matter.

I barely heard her. I only wanted my son. Cameron noticed my panic. “He’s safe,” he said gently. “They’re just making sure he wasn’t hurt.”