“I don’t even know what to name him yet,” she admitted.
For the first time, Dr. Brooks smiled.
“My wife’s name was Margaret. I used to call her Maggie.”
Emily looked at the baby for a long moment.
“Hi, my love,” she whispered softly. “I think your name will be Noah Brooks Carter.”
Three weeks later, Dr. Brooks found Ethan.
He was living in a cheap motel on the outskirts of Austin. Working odd jobs. Drinking too much. Looking like a man who had spent too long running from himself. Dr. Brooks didn’t yell. Didn’t accuse.
He simply placed a photo on the table.
A newborn baby. Eyes closed. Tiny hands curled.
Ethan stared at it, his expression slowly shifting.
“His name is Noah,” Dr. Brooks said quietly. “He has your mother’s nose.”
Ethan’s voice broke.
“I’m not enough for them… I never have been.”
Dr. Brooks leaned forward.
“That’s not your decision anymore. Being a father isn’t about being ready. It’s about choosing to stay.”
He slid a piece of paper across the table.
“Your mother waited for you until her last day. Don’t let that be the story you repeat.”
Two months passed.
One Sunday morning, as Emily rocked Noah by the window, there was a knock at the door.
She opened it.
Ethan stood there.