The sterile white room felt colder than ever. The clinical lights seemed to press down on me, magnifying the fear I was fighting to keep contained. Damon had been gone for perhaps fifteen minutes, but the silence he left behind was heavy, charged with his threat—the promise of a medical "mistake" that would shatter my second son. Dr. Costa, the gaunt obstetrician, was still trembling, his hands hovering uselessly over the monitoring equipment. He was clearly a victim, not an accomplice, his ...