Part 2
By morning, the pain had settled into my bones.
Not the sharp kind anymore. Not the kind that made my breath catch every time I shifted against the hospital sheets. This was colder. Deeper. A quiet ache that lived behind my ribs and watched everything with clear eyes.
The boys were sleeping.
Three tiny faces. Three soft mouths. Three futures Adrian had tried to use as leverage before they had even learned how to cry properly.
I named them before Adrian could object.
Leo. Noah. Samuel.
Their names felt like anchors. Like promises.
My mother arrived just after sunrise.
She did not rush into the room with tears. She did not collapse over me or curse Adrian’s name. She walked in wearing a cream wool coat, pearl earrings, and the same expression she used when entering boardrooms full of men who thought she was decorative.
