INT. GREY SLOAN MEMORIAL – NICU  - LATER

Link stands between the two incubators, exactly where we left him.
His good hand is threaded through the small opening, holding Baby B’s tiny fingers.

He hasn’t moved in a while.

A nurse approaches quietly, careful not to startle him.

NURSE
Dr. Lincoln?
Dr. Ndugu and Dr. Warren are outside.
They have an update on your wife.

Link nods once. Alert.
He doesn’t trust his voice.

He withdraws his hand slowly, like breaking contact takes effort.

INT. GREY SLOAN MEMORIAL – NICU THRESHOLD – CONTINUOUS

Link slips the blue gloves off, dropping them into the bin without looking.

For a moment, he doesn’t move.

Inside the NICU, his daughters breathe with the help of machines.
Out here, the air feels heavier. Less forgiving.

He exhales, like he’s leaving something behind.
Not by choice. By necessity.

He steps away from the doors.

INT. GREY SLOAN MEMORIAL – CONTINUOUS

Bailey is there.
Not hovering.
Not pacing.
Just present — like she never left.

Ben Warren and Winston Ndugu approach him together.

No rush.
No white-coat urgency.

This isn’t an emergency update.
This is a truth moment.

NDUGU
Link.

Link straightens instinctively — bracing for impact.

A beat.

LINK
She coded.

Ben nods. No hedging.

BEN
Her heart stopped.
But we got her back.

The words land fully now.
Not procedural.
Personal.

NDUGU
The pump is doing what it’s supposed to do.
It’s supporting her heart — taking some of the load off.

Link listens. Focused. Clinging to specifics.

NDUGU
But—

There it is.

NDUGU (CONT’D)
 —Her ejection fraction hasn’t improved yet.

Silence.

Link absorbs it slowly — heavier than everything else.

LINK
So… what does that mean?

Ndugu chooses his words carefully.

NDUGU
It means her heart hasn’t recovered on its own yet.
Right now, we’re watching.
Waiting to see if it does.

LINK
And if it doesn’t?

The question is quiet.
But it’s there.

Ndugu doesn’t rush to answer.

NDUGU
Then we talk about next steps.
But we’re not there yet.

That’s not reassurance.
That’s honesty.

Link nods once.

LINK
Is she… awake?

Ben answers this time.

BEN
No.
They’ve lightened the sedation — but she hasn’t woken up yet.

Another layer settles in.

Bailey steps closer — steady, unmistakable.

BAILEY
She’s stable.
That matters.

Link exhales — shaky.

LINK
(jaw tightening, grip firm on the sling)
Can I see her?

Ndugu looks at Ben. Then nods.

NDUGU
Yes.
She’s been moved to the ICU.

That’s the moment.
Not relief.
Not hope.
Permission.

Link swallows hard.

LINK
Okay.

He doesn’t move yet.

He looks at Bailey.

LINK (CONT’D)
I can’t be in two places.

It’s not a complaint.
It’s a realization.

Bailey doesn’t hesitate.

BAILEY
You don’t have to be.

She gestures gently back toward the NICU.

BAILEY (CONT’D)
I’ll stay with the girls.
You go see your wife.

Link’s eyes flicker — gratitude, fear, everything tangled.

LINK
Thank you.

Ben adds quietly:

BEN
We’ve got you.

Link nods. That’s all he has left.

Ndugu gestures down the hall.

NDUGU
I’ll walk you to her room.

Link takes one last look toward the NICU doors.

Then turns.

He follows Ndugu down the corridor.

Bailey stays.
So does Ben.

The support system doesn’t collapse when he leaves.
It holds. 

INT. GREY SLOAN MEMORIAL – NICU CORRIDOR – CONTINUOUS

Bailey and Ben stand just outside the NICU, side by side, looking in through the glass at the cribs.

Bailey reaches for Ben’s hand — grounding him as much as herself.

He looks exhausted. Worn down.

BEN
(shaken)
We almost lost her.

Bailey tightens her grip and finally looks at him.

BAILEY
You got her back. 

Ben exhales, the adrenaline wearing off.
 
BEN
Not fully back yet…

A beat.

BEN
I’m going to stay close to her room.
In case anything changes.

Bailey nods.

Ben leans in and kisses her on the cheek — quick, familiar, full of gratitude.

She squeezes his shoulder once.

BAILEY
Okay.

Ben heads off.

Bailey turns back toward the NICU doors.
She enters, gowns herself, and steps closer to the incubators the nurse has just shown her.

Her voice softens.

BAILEY
Hi, little ladies.
I’m Miranda.

A small, steady smile.

BAILEY (CONT’D)
I’m a good friend of your mom and dad.
And you should know something—

She leans in, just a little.

BAILEY (CONT’D)
You are very, very loved.

She stays.

FADE OUT.