Chapter 3 - A MOTHER'S MILK, A FATHER'S SECRET
The next morning, Lucas opened his eyes.
I was sitting beside his crib when he moved his tiny hand toward my finger.
I touched his palm.
He wrapped his fingers around mine.
The pressure was barely noticeable.
But it was enough to make me cry.
"Hey, little fighter," I whispered.
Dr. Bennett entered the room.
"Good morning, Hannah."
"He's awake."
"I see that."
The doctor examined Lucas and reviewed his latest results.
"He looks stronger. We'll continue monitoring him, but I'm cautiously encouraged."
I smiled.
For the first time since coming to the Vale estate, I felt hope without immediately expecting it to disappear.
Adrian arrived an hour later.
He wore the same shirt as the previous day.
His hair was disheveled.
There were dark shadows beneath his eyes.
He approached the crib slowly.
"Hello, son."
Lucas moved.
Adrian reached toward him.
Then stopped.
I looked up.
"What's wrong?"
Adrian swallowed.
"I'm afraid."
The admission startled me.
"Of what?"
"That I'll touch him and something will happen."
My heart tightened.
I understood that feeling too well.
After losing Grace, I had become terrified of remembering her.
Terrified of forgetting her.
Terrified that loving another child would somehow betray the one I had buried.
I stood beside Adrian.
"He's your son."
"I know."
"He needs you."
Adrian stared at Lucas.
Then he gently placed his hand inside the crib.
Lucas wrapped his tiny fingers around Adrian's thumb.
The expression on Adrian's face changed.
It was as though someone had opened a door inside a room that had been dark for years.
"He knows me," Adrian whispered.
"Of course he does."
Adrian looked at me.
"Will he remember Isabel?"
I took a breath.
"He'll know her through the stories you tell him."
His eyes filled.
"She wanted him so badly."
"Then tell him that."
He looked down at his son.
"Your mother loved you," he whispered. "Before you were born. Before we knew your name."
I turned away because I couldn't bear the tenderness of it.
Later that afternoon, Dr. Bennett asked to speak with me privately.
We entered a small consultation room.
"There's something I need to discuss," he said.
I sat down.
"Is Lucas okay?"
"He's improving. This is about your role in his care."
I nodded.
"The feeding arrangement needs to be medically supervised," he continued. "We need to make sure you have appropriate support, that feeding is safe for both of you, and that your recovery after Grace's birth isn't being neglected."
My throat tightened.
"I know."
He sat across from me.
"Hannah, you've been through an extraordinary loss. Helping Lucas may feel meaningful, but it shouldn't become an obligation you can't escape."
I looked down.
"Sometimes I feel like if I stop holding him, something terrible will happen."
Dr. Bennett's expression softened.
"That's understandable. But his survival cannot rest on your shoulders alone."
Tears filled my eyes.
"I couldn't save Grace."
His voice was gentle.
"You did not fail your daughter."
I covered my face.
For weeks, I had been carrying those words inside me without allowing anyone to challenge them.
Dr. Bennett waited.
When I finally looked up, he handed me a tissue.
"Lucas needs a medical plan and a team of caregivers. You deserve support too."
I nodded.
He was right.
I couldn't turn my grief into a promise that no other baby would ever die.
No one could make that promise.
That evening, Adrian asked me to return to the estate with him.
The doctors had approved Lucas's discharge once a reliable feeding plan and follow-up arrangements were established.
A trained nurse would accompany us.
Dr. Bennett would remain involved in his care.
I agreed.
But before we left, I asked Adrian something.
"Why did you come to my bakery?"
He looked at me.
"What?"
"There are lactation consultants, donor-milk programs, pediatric specialists. Why me?"
His expression changed.
For a moment, he seemed to be deciding whether to lie.
Then he said, "Isabel knew you."
My breath stopped.
"No."
He reached into his coat.
From an inner pocket, he removed a folded piece of paper.
It was a photograph of my bakery.
Above the door, the faded sign read:
GRACE & FLOUR — HANNAH BROOKS, OWNER.
On the back was a handwritten message.
If Lucas ever needs someone I can trust, find Hannah Brooks.
I stared at the handwriting.
"Isabel wrote this?"
Adrian nodded.
"When?"
"Two days before she died."
My hands began shaking.
"How did she know me?"
Adrian hesitated.
Then he said, "That's what I've been trying to understand."
I looked at the photograph again.
Isabel Vale had known my name.
Known my bakery.
And somehow known that one day her child might need me.
But there was something even stranger.
The handwriting looked familiar.
Painfully familiar.
I had seen those letters before.
On a card delivered to my hospital room after Grace died.
May you like
A card signed only:
From a mother who understands.
