Noah drank desperately.
For the first time, Emma’s face showed something other than vigilance.
Relief.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to thank me,” Michael said. “Every child deserves to eat.”
Emma fell asleep against the window on the way. Michael wondered how long it had been since she’d slept without fear.
When they reached the mansion, reality hit.
“Sir,” Ethan said carefully, “Mrs. Carter is home.”
Michael closed his eyes briefly.
Laura.
His wife. Elegant. Composed. Slowly fading after years of failed treatments and unspoken grief.
“I’ll talk to her,” he said.
The front door opened. Laura stepped out, perfect as ever—until she saw Michael, muddy, beside a small girl holding a baby.
“Michael,” she said slowly. “What is this?”
“They were abandoned,” he said. “They need help.”
Laura’s eyes moved to Emma. To the baby’s thin face.
Something old and buried flickered in her gaze.
“They need a bath,” she said softly. “Clean clothes. Food.”
Then she looked at Michael.
“And then you and I will talk.”
Inside, Emma moved like she was on another planet—marble floors, chandeliers, silence. Laura showed her a guest room.
“You can bathe here,” she said gently. “Do you want help?”