Ethan stood in the records room alone now. The baby’s file was open in front of him—pages missing, timestamps altered.
Someone had erased her existence.
Behind him, the door slowly opened.
The same woman walked in, holding the newborn.
But she was different now.
Calmer. Colder.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” she asked.
Ethan shook his head.
“I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
She laughed softly.
“That’s what you told them to believe.”
She stepped closer.
The baby reached for Ethan’s coat.
He flinched—but the child didn’t stop crying until she touched him.
The woman leaned in and whispered:
“You didn’t just deliver my daughter, Doctor… you erased your own past.”
Ethan’s breath stopped.
“That’s impossible…”
She held up an old photograph.
Ethan… younger… smiling… with her.
“We were married,” she said.
