Emily broke down in tears. Michael whispered, “Thank God.”

The next day, Jessica came back—alone this time.

“I understand if you don’t want to see me again,” she said quietly.

Emily was silent for a long moment.

“You should have told us your daughter would be with you,” she said softly.

Jessica nodded. “I know. I thought it was just for a short time.”

Michael sighed. “We can’t undo this.”

“No,” she whispered. “But he’s alive.”

Silence.

Finally, Emily said, “She didn’t mean to hurt him.”

Jessica’s voice broke. “She feels terrible.”

“But we can’t trust that situation again,” Emily added gently.

Jessica lowered her head. “I understand.”

Two days later, Oliver was discharged.

The doctors said he would fully recover.

But nothing felt the same.

A week later, Jessica returned one last time—with her daughter.

The little girl stood quietly, holding a drawing.

It was a baby under a bright sun.

At the bottom, in uneven letters, it read:

“I’M SORRY, BABY OLIVER.”

Emily knelt and hugged her gently.

“Thank you,” she said.

The girl looked up nervously. “Is it okay?”

Emily gave a small, soft smile.

“It will be.”

And for the first time since that day…

the weight in the room began to lift.