The Doctor Who Loved Me in Secret

I fled with my pregnancy for four years, never expecting to run into my foster brother Diego late one night at the pediatric emergency room.

I wore a mask. He didn't recognize me.

His gaze first fell on the child in my arms:

"How old?"

"Five," I lied.

He touched Jesse's throat with a cotton swab, then gently pressed his abdomen twice before turning back to his desk to write up the medical record.

Mycoplasma pneumonia. Nebulizer treatment and observation required.

Halfway through writing, his pen tip paused.

"Where's the child's father? Didn't he come with you?"

"He's dead!" I said.