Harper's hand trembled as she stared at the email on her phone.
The subject line alone made her heart pound violently; she could feel her chest quickly expanding and contracting.
[The identity of your son's biological father.]
Her fingers hovered above the screen, but she could not bring herself to open it right away.
"What's this…?" she whispered under her breath.
Her throat felt dry. For a moment, she stood by the bed, breathing slowly, trying to steady the sudden storm inside her chest.
Something about the email felt wrong. Dangerous. As if opening it would shatter something she had carefully built for years.
Harper instinctively turned her head toward the bed.
Her son lay there quietly, wrapped in the hospital blanket. His small chest rose and fell slowly as he slept, his pale face relaxed in peaceful exhaustion.
Seeing that he had finally fallen asleep brought her a small sense of relief.
Good. She did not want her son to see her like this again.
