Chapter 2 - Two Tiny Heartbeats in the NICU — The DNA Test He Ordered in Secret
The Level IV Neonatal Intensive Care Unit of St. Catherine’s was a hushed
sanctuary of glowing screens, rhythmic humming respirators, and clear acrylic
incubators.
Ethan stood in the dim blue light, still wearing his surgical scrubs, staring
through the plastic wall of Isolette 12.
Inside lay the baby boy, named temporarily on his medical chart as Infant Boy
Collins. He had a full head of jet-black hair—identical to Ethan’s—and long,
delicate fingers that twitched against the fleece blanket. Two incubators down,
Infant Girl Collins rested under phototherapy lights, breathing through a tiny
nasal cannula, tiny monitors strapped to her miniature ankles.
“They’re fighters, Dr. Caldwell,” whispered Dr. Sarah Lin, the NICU attending on
duty. “Thirty-two weeks is early, but their lung surfactant response has been
remarkable. Twin A weighs three pounds, eight ounces. Twin B is three pounds,
one ounce. With twenty-four-hour monitoring and respiratory support, they have a
ninety-five percent survival projection.”
Ethan touched his forehead against the cool plastic of the incubator. “Thank
you, Sarah. Use the private donor blood reserve if they need further
transfusions. Charge everything directly to my personal foundation account.”
Sarah looked at him curiously. In all her years working alongside the stoic,
emotionally impenetrable Dr. Caldwell, she had never seen him look at a
patient’s children with such raw, unguarded reverence.
“Dr. Caldwell... do you know the mother?”
Ethan didn't answer immediately. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two
sterile buccal swabs he had taken from his own cheek thirty minutes earlier in
his private office, along with two blood sample vials drawn from the infants'
umbilical cords during delivery.
He handed the sealed biohazard envelope to Dr. Lin.
“Run a stat comprehensive DNA paternity panel through the private forensic lab
on the ninth floor,” Ethan said, his voice quiet but commanding. “I want the
results directly on my personal tablet within four hours. Do not log the
requisition into the general hospital database.”
Dr. Lin looked at the envelope, her eyes widening slightly as the pieces snapped
into place. “Understood, Ethan. Completely confidential.”
Leaving the NICU, Ethan took the private elevator up to the fourth-floor
Intensive Care Unit.
He had already ordered Hannah moved from the general post-op ward to the VIP
Presidential Suite at the end of the hall—a private room with bulletproof glass,
a private nurse stationed outside the door, and an entire wall of
floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the misty Chicago skyline.
He walked into the darkened room.
Hannah lay in the center of the oversized hospital bed, surrounded by warm IV
lines, oxygen prongs beneath her nose, and a slow infusion of iron and platelets
restoring color to her cheeks.
Ethan pulled an armchair to the side of her bed and sat down. He took her small,
cold hand into his large palm, intertwining their fingers.
May you like
On her ring finger, there was a faint indentation—a white line where an
engagement ring had once rested five years ago, before his mother had thrown
Hannah’s belongings onto the wet pavement of the Caldwell estate and Ethan had
stood by, paralyzed by orchestrated lies.
“I’m sorry, Hannah,” Ethan murmured into the quiet room, pressing her bruised
hand against his lips. “I’m so sorry I wasn't there to carry you.”
