Twenty minutes later, the door opened.
She knew his footsteps before she saw him.
That realization made her hate herself.
Ethan entered quietly.
He was no longer wearing surgical scrubs. He had changed into a dark shirt beneath his white coat, but exhaustion had carved shadows beneath his eyes.
He looked older.
Sharper.
More controlled.
The twenty-nine-year-old man she had loved had become someone powerful enough to frighten an entire hospital simply by entering a room.
But his eyes were the same.
That was the worst part.
“Hannah.”
She looked out the window.
“Dr. Caldwell.”
Something tightened in his expression.
“Your surgery was complicated.”
“I was informed.”
“You lost a dangerous amount of blood.”
“So I was told.”
“We were able to control the hemorrhage without performing a hysterectomy.”
“Thank you.”
Her voice was polite.
Cold.
It hurt him more than anger would have.
Ethan pulled a chair closer but remained standing.
