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Three years earlier, after her third miscarriage, everything had shattered. He had watched Rachel fall apart, sobbing uncontrollably on the bathroom floor until she had no voice left.
That was when he made a decision. Quietly. Alone. Without telling anyone. No insurance records. No discussions.
At the time, he told himself it was an act of love—a way to protect her from more pain, from another loss he couldn’t bear to witness.
But now, standing in that hospital room, Rachel held a baby who—logically—could not be his.
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