Chapter 3The Surgeon and My Secret Baby

Logan froze. His eyes narrowed, searching my ruined face. "So... you regret it?"

"I—"

"Too late," he cut in coldly.

He set the prepared bottle on the counter, stepped toward me, and backed me against the closed door. His tall frame blocked out the harsh fluorescent light, and the familiar scent of cedar and clean soap washed over me, accompanied by his hot, uneven breath near my ear.

"Dumping me five years ago gave you quite the rush, didn't it, Cece?"

A vivid, traitorous memory seized my brain: the early days of our college relationship, when he used to back me into the corner of the campus library, breathing this exact same fire against my skin before kissing me senseless.

Looking at the sharp planes of his face now, my heart gave a sickening, painful thud.

The air between us grew thick and suffocating. Thankfully, Toby's frantic wailing broke the spell. I shoved past Logan’s shoulder, grabbed the lukewarm bottle, and tipped the nipple into my son's mouth.

I leaned against the desk, feeding Toby with practiced rhythm. Logan stood three feet away, his arms crossed over his chest, watching in total silence.

That was his tell. When Logan was in a state of absolute, simmering rage, he went mute. Back when we were dating, whenever he got like this, it took twenty apologies and at least fifty desperate kisses to drag him out of his shell.

I lowered my gaze. I didn't have the right to kiss him anymore.

Suddenly, a foul, unmistakable smell bloomed in the small room.

Logan and I exchanged a glance.

His face darkened into a caricature of utter disgust. As a severe germaphobe whose apartment used to smell permanently of hospital-grade disinfectant, this was his personal nightmare.

"I'll... I'll go get a diaper," I muttered, moving toward the door.

When I hurried back from my room with the pack of Pampers and wipes, Logan had already laid Toby out on his pristine twin bed, having unfastened the infant's onesie with two gingerly pinched fingers.

"He had a blowout," I whispered, feeling guilty. "I can change him."

His hand twitched toward his pocket, clearly looking for a cigarette he couldn't smoke inside, before he jammed his fist back into his scrub trousers. "I have eyes, Cece."

"Well, you don't have to look at him like he's toxic waste. If you're that disgusted, wait outside."

He ground his molars together. "In case you’ve forgotten, this is my on-call room."

"Right. Enjoy the bouquet, then."

I ripped open the wet wipes, but before I could touch Toby, Logan nudged my shoulder aside. "Give it here."

"You know how?"

"Shut up."

I kept my mouth shut. I watched in stunned silence as a premier surgical fellow handled an explosive newborn diaper. His movements were undeniably stiff, but surprisingly tender. His large, scarred surgeon's hands cradled Toby's tiny hips with immense care, cleaning him thoroughly with warm, dampened paper towels before securing the fresh tabs with mathematical precision.

The quiet domesticity of the scene hit me like a physical blow.

With a clean diaper and a full stomach, Toby let out a soft sigh, fluttered his dark eyelashes, and drifted straight to sleep against Logan’s military-tucked sheets.

The room settled into an oppressive silence. I fidgeted with the hem of my cardigan, acutely aware of Logan’s dark gaze boring into the side of my face.

"Cece."

"What?"

"In the last five years... did you ever regret walking out? Even for a minute?"

He was sitting on the edge of the rolling chair. Beneath the harsh desk lamp, his eyes were bloodshot, shimmering with an emotion I couldn't decipher.

I picked up the empty bottle, keeping my eyes fixed on the plastic cap. "Of course I did. You're a brilliant surgeon, successful, wealthy, ridiculously handsome. I started regretting it years ago."

I thought giving him the petty satisfaction of knowing I had ruined my own life would soothe his bruised ego. After all, what better victory over an ex than watching them grovel in regret?

Instead, his jaw hardened, and his eyes flashed with furious disgust.

He lunged up, scooped the sleeping baby off the mattress, shoved the swaddled bundle and the dirty bottle into my arms, and opened the door.

"Get out."

"Logan—"

"Did you come back just to find an idiot to finance your kid?" he snarled, his voice trembling with repressed fury. "Play the tragic widow, reel me in, and then kick me to the curb again once your life gets comfortable? Get out before I have security escort you to your room."

The door clicked shut in my face.

Standing in the dim hallway with a sleeping infant in my arms, I was utterly speechless. God as my witness, I had never even thought of that.