Adrian bent to pick it up—and the glass in his other hand slipped, shattering at his feet.
The photo was old.
A teenage girl in a ballet costume, smiling brightly. Her arm wrapped around her shoulders was unmistakable.
Clara.
On the back, in Clara’s handwriting:
“To my little star, Vanessa. Paris is waiting for you. Love always.”
Adrian staggered back.
Clara had once told him about a gifted student from a modest background she planned to sponsor at a dance academy in France. After Clara’s death, lost in grief, Adrian had shut down the foundation she ran.
He had canceled every scholarship.
“I can’t deal with it,” he had said at the time.
He had clipped the wings of the very girl now caring for his sons.
Shame burned through him.
Before he could process it, thunder cracked across the sky. The lights flickered—and died.
The storm outside intensified, rain slamming against the windows.
Then came another sound.
A cry—but different this time.
He ran to the nursery.
Vanessa was already there, holding a candle, her face pale.
“They’re burning up,” she said. “High fever.”
Adrian touched Liam’s forehead.
Scorching.
“Call 911!”
“No signal. The storm knocked out the lines. A tree blocked the road. We’re cut off.”