Chapter 2

Evelyn kept sucking on her tiny fist, whimpering—soft, fast, desperate little sounds.

I bit into the dry bread.

The crumbs scraped down my throat like swallowing broken glass.

My eyes burned.

I choked it down with cold water, mouthful by mouthful.

My stomach bloated up, sour and heavy. But still no milk. Not a drop.

Evelyn squirmed in my arms. Her crying got weaker. Her little face scrunched tight.

The old woman in the next bed sat up and held out a plastic bowl. Warm oatmeal porridge.

"Try giving her a little of this, sweetheart."

The wrinkles around her eyes were full of kindness.

I choked back the lump in my throat and whispered a thank you.

"Where's her father? Why isn't he here helping you?"

I looked down. Didn't answer.

I couldn't say it. Her father was at the end of the hallway, in that VIP suite, holding someone else's baby.

I blew on the oatmeal over and over, tested the temperature with my lips, then carefully brought it to Evelyn's mouth.

"You can't feed her that."

Stellan appeared out of nowhere and knocked the bowl out of my hand.

The oatmeal splashed across my leg.

I flinched, yanking my arm back from the heat.

He looked down at the mess on the floor, voice sharp with impatience.

"She's two days old. You really don't know she can't digest this stuff?"

I clenched my teeth and pulled Evelyn further away, shielding her from the splatter.

Stellan clicked his tongue.

"Are you really so helpless you can't even hold a bowl?"

That look in his eyes—he thought I was putting on an act. Playing the victim.

I lifted my head. Pushed the tears back down. Asked one question.

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

"She's hungry. All I had was a few pieces of bread. I don't have a single drop of milk."

He frowned. "Are you blaming me for that?"

"You didn't keep up with your nutrition during the pregnancy. What's the point of bringing it up now?"

Like I didn't want to eat. I couldn't.

The morning sickness was so bad I threw up everything I swallowed.

I thought he knew that.

After all, he'd kept a thick pregnancy journal. Recorded my vitals every single day.

I used to treat that notebook like a gift. Flipped through it over and over. So happy I couldn't sleep.

Now I understood. The entries that never matched up with me—they were never about me.

He'd been tracking Ariadne the whole time.

The tears just fell.

Stellan froze for a second. His lips pressed tight.

Then finally, his tone softened a little.

He reached out and wiped the tears off my face, clumsy, almost awkward.

"There are too many eyes in this hospital. I can't treat you differently. People will talk."

"I'll go get you some formula. But just this once."

He was gone a few minutes. Came back with an old baby bottle.

The plastic had yellowed. There were scratch marks along the rim.

"Ariadne mixed it herself. Go ahead."

I had no other choice.

I tested the temperature on the inside of my wrist, then gently slipped the nipple into Evelyn's mouth.

She sucked hard, twice—then burst into a wail.

Milky foam spilled from the corners of her mouth. A sour, rancid smell hit me in the face.

I scrambled to wipe her mouth, my heart clenching like someone had it in a fist.

Stellan stood there. Rubbed the bridge of his nose. His voice was light. Casual.

"Ariadne probably just made a mistake. She didn't mean to."

"Besides, babies aren't as fragile as you think. Don't overreact."

Before he even finished, Ariadne's soft voice floated over from the VIP room next door.

"Stellan? The baby won't take his bottle all of a sudden. Can you come look?"

He left immediately. Already dialing as he walked. "VIP, third floor. Get up here. Now."

Avoiding favoritism. Hospital rules. No special treatment.

All of it shattered. Right there. Right then.

I lowered my head and pressed Evelyn's burning little face against my chest.

She was still crying. But barely.

The old woman came over. Patted my shoulder gently. Let out a long sigh.

"Sweetheart, a man like that—you gotta let him go."

I nodded.

"Yeah. I'm done."