“He’s a fighter,” the nurse said, her voice infused with an optimism I desperately needed. “With time and care, he’s got a good chance.”

I pressed my hand against the glass, whispering a silent pledge to this little boy. “You are loved,” I murmured, as if my voice could transcend the barriers between us. “Your mother and I are here, and we will see you grow strong.”

As I returned to the waiting area, thoughts of Ryan crept back in, my anger rekindled. I wondered what he was doing now, if he was on his way, if he even cared about the crisis that had unfolded. Would he rush to Sarah’s side and stand with us in this fight, or would he remain distant, a ghost of the husband and father he was supposed to be?