Chapter 5: Divine Irony
The silence that followed was eternal, thick with shock and the ghosts of eighteen years. Dante stopped typing on his tablet and looked up slowly, turning his full gaze toward Marcus.
His face remained professional, perfectly neutral, but I knew my son. I saw the muscles in his jaw tighten. I saw the sudden, sharp recollection in his eyes. He didn’t see a father; he saw the source of all the pain I had carries. He saw the man who had deemed him worthless before his life had even began.
“No, sir,” Dante said, his voice calm, chillingly firm, and devoid of all emotion. “You are not my father. My father died eighteen years ago. You are just the man who biologically contributed to my existence and then abandoned my mother and me because I wasn’t perfect enough for your ego.”
Marcus recoiled as if he had been physically slapped. “Son, please, I—”
“Dr. Vance,” my son corrected immediately, his voice slicing through Marcus’s protest. “And I am not your son. Now, if you’ll allow me, I need to know your relationship to the patient who was just admitted so I can attend to her properly.”
Just then, a triage nurse hurried up, holding a chart.
“Dr. Vance, we have the initial labs on the twelve-year-old, Immani. High fever, seizures, unresponsive. The father reported a history of epilepsy. We need your assessment in Trauma Bay 2 immediately.”
Dante grabbed the chart, scanning it instantly. I saw the professional focus take over, pushing the personal shock aside. He looked at Marcus. “Are you Immani’s father?”
