Hand can pick the stars

I pushed open the clinic door, momentarily stunned. Sitting there was Ethan Grant, my ex from five years ago. Back then, he wasn't exactly into me; I was the one who'd relentlessly pursued him. So when I broke it off, he didn't try to stop me. Years later, he seemed even more reserved.

He didn't appear to recognize me, glancing only at the child in my arms. "What seems to be the problem?"

I remembered then that Noah, burning with fever, was still nestled against me. "He has a fever. I gave him some Tylenol, but it hasn't gone down."

Ethan took Noah from me and placed him on the examination table, starting his checkup. "He's got some congestion in his lungs. Might need to be admitted."

My heart lurched. Lung infections weren't a joke. Maybe my face gave away my fear because he added, "I'll prescribe some medicine, and we'll get him started on an IV. We'll monitor him tonight. If the fever breaks, he won't need to stay."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"You're welcome."

Finally, with Noah hooked up to an IV and sleeping soundly in my arms, his small hand clutching my shirt, I sat in a corner chair. He’d looked so much like me as a baby, but as he grew, he was starting to resemble Ethan.

It was a good thing Ethan hadn't recognized me. I couldn't help but kiss my son's small face. Honestly, seeing Ethan again after all these years, it was impossible not to feel something. But…what could I do?

Five years. He’d probably forgotten all about me. He was probably married with a family of his own by now. If it hadn't been for my dad's death in prison and the need to handle his affairs, I wouldn't have come back, and I wouldn't have run into him. I shouldn’t disrupt his peaceful life now.

As if to confirm my thoughts, Ethan walked out a short while later. He strolled casually towards the nurses' station, hands in his pockets, where a slender figure stood – Olivia Miller, his childhood sweetheart. Years later, Olivia was a doctor too, still as pretty as a picture. They exchanged a few words, and Olivia suddenly gave Ethan a sweet yet playful glare. Picture perfect.

At 3:00 a.m., Noah's fever finally broke. I held him in one arm, a bag of medicine in the other, waiting for a ride outside the hospital. A silver Mercedes pulled up, and there, behind the wheel, was Ethan. He was looking right at me. Back then, I’d whine about carrying my purse and expect him to carry it for me. Now, I was single-handedly holding a thirty-pound kid and a massive diaper bag. I was a mess.

"Get in," he said.

I instinctively refused. "No, thanks. My Uber will be here any minute."

He frowned impatiently. "There aren't any Ubers at this hour. Get in."

Remembering his aloof and sometimes grumpy demeanor, I didn't argue. Besides, I had to work in the morning. I quickly climbed into the back seat, Noah still in my arms.

I gave him my grandma’s address. The ride was silent. I glanced at Ethan’s hand on the steering wheel. A plain silver band sat snugly on his ring finger. He was marri...