Outside, the rain had softened to a drizzle. Maya stepped into the gray afternoon, pulled her coat tighter, and began walking toward the gate. Back upstairs, Edward stood in the master bedroom, still breathing hard. He looked at the bed again, jaw tight, and then something registered. The quiet, he moved closer.

Ethan’s brow was smooth. No tossing, no whispering, no cold sweat. Eli’s thumb was in his mouth, but his other hand was resting on the blanket, still relaxed. They were asleep. Not drugged. Not exhausted by crying. Just asleep. His throat tightened. 14 nannies, therapists, doctors. Hours of screaming, fits, and anxiety.

And yet, Maya, this soft-spoken stranger, had managed what none of them had, and he’d struck her. He sat down on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. Shame bled into his chest like ink and water. On the nightstand, a note lay folded once. He opened it.

If you can’t stay for them, at least don’t push away the ones who will. It wasn’t signed. He read it twice, then again. His reflection in the nearby mirror looked back at him. A man hardened by grief, drowning in control, choking on silence. Down the hall, Mrs. Keller stood watching. Sir, she said softly. She didn’t touch a thing in here. Only brought them in when the little one had a nose bleed. He didn’t respond.