That night Isabella slept upright in a chair. Alone. Without the babies. For the first time since finding them, she felt empty instead of determined.
The next morning the door opened again.
Adrian Caldwell entered.
He looked nothing like the polished billionaire on magazine covers. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. His jaw was unshaven. Grief clung to him.
“You’re the one who found them?” he asked.
Isabella nodded, unable to hold his gaze.
“I didn’t want the reward,” she said quickly. “I just didn’t want them alone.”
He studied her for a long moment.
“They were taken from the hospital,” he said quietly. “I thought they were gone forever.”
Her voice trembled. “I don’t have anyone either. So I understood.”
Silence settled between them.
“How did you manage?” he asked.
She told him everything—the warehouse, the sleepless nights, how she hummed to them so they wouldn’t cry. How she promised them things she couldn’t promise herself.
Adrian closed his eyes briefly.
“Come with me,” he said.
He led her down a hallway and opened a door.
The triplets lay in bassinets, warm and safe.
Isabella hesitated, as if she didn’t deserve to approach.
“You can go closer,” Adrian said softly. “They recognize you.”