Children’s laughter floated through the air like music, light and careless. Among them, a little boy named Noah—barely two years old—ran unsteadily across the grass, his tiny shoes thudding softly as he chased after the one person who made his whole world feel safe.
“Emma!” he called, his voice high and joyful.
Emma Carter, twenty-four years old, turned toward him. She wore a simple light-blue uniform, the kind that marked her as hired help, but there was nothing ordinary about the way she looked at the child. Her eyes softened instantly, her arms opening without hesitation as Noah ran straight into them.
But today, something was different.
Her smile trembled.
Tears slipped quietly down her cheeks, no matter how hard she tried to blink them away.
She hugged Noah tighter than usual, pressing her face into his soft hair, breathing him in like she was trying to memorize him.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Careful, you’ll fall.”
But it wasn’t Noah she was worried about.
It was herself.
A sleek black sedan pulled up along the curb nearby, its polished surface reflecting the sunlight. The door opened, and Adrian Walker stepped out.