Lydia entered the same dark, cold bedroom where her dignity had vanished ten months earlier. The shadows hadn’t changed. The coldness hadn’t changed. Only she had.
Carefully, she placed her baby on the bed. Her fingers lingered on his cheek, tracing the softness, memorizing every detail—the faint curl of his eyelashes, the tiny tremble of his lips, the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. A tear landed on his swaddling cloth.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice cracking, “Mama is so, so sorry…”
The door opened.
A presence swept into the room—commanding, sharp-edged, and cold enough to slice the air. Lydia didn’t need to see his face to recognize the man in the dark.
His voice struck like ice.
“When you left, you promised you weren’t pregnant. Explain this child.”
Her throat tightened. Shame, fear, and exhaustion wove together until speaking felt like tearing open wounds.
“I didn’t know,” she whispered. “My body… it didn’t change. I kept bleeding like normal. I didn’t even realize until it was too late.” Her breath trembled. “I tried to raise him. I really did. But the debts… the medical bills… the compensation… it’s drowning me. I can’t do it anymore. That’s why I brought him to you.”
For a moment, silence.
Then disbelief twisted into fury.
His voice rose—sharp, booming—startling the sleeping baby. The infant wailed, tiny arms flailing. Instinct overtook Lydia. She scooped him up, rocking and soothing, murmuring gentle words. Then, without thinking, she turned away and fed him, her body shielding him from the man’s rage.
The man’s eyes darkened, silently absorbing the scene—a woman he barely knew, holding a child who might be his, tenderness softening the jagged fear in her voice.
When the baby finally fell asleep, Lydia placed him back on the bed, her decision weighing like a blade between them.
“If you want him,” she said softly but firmly, “we do a DNA test. If you don’t… I’ll take him and leave. After today, neither of us will ever come back.”
