The moment the nurse carried my newborn into recovery, my mother recoiled. “We will never acknowledge a fatherless child,” she said. My father folded his arms. “And we will never hold that baby.”

“You should leave,” I said.

My mother’s expression hardened. “You are in no position to give orders.”

Then the recovery-room door opened.

A tall man wearing a dark coat entered, followed by a hospital administrator and two lawyers. His face softened when he saw Noah, then turned cold when he noticed my parents.

My father lowered his arms.

My mother lost all color.

“Elias Vale,” she whispered.

Elias walked to my bedside, kissed my forehead, and gently brushed our son’s cheek.

Then he faced my parents.