The hallway blurred as I sprinted, my bare feet striking cold marble. I burst into the nursery and caught Felicia’s wrist before her hand landed.
She gasped. Grace stepped back, clutching Isaiah. Aaron began to cry.
I looked into Felicia’s eyes and said quietly, “The cameras record everything. Security is on their way. The police are already being called.”
Felicia went pale. Grace sank to the floor, breathing hard, still rocking the baby.
When the authorities arrived and led Felicia away, the penthouse finally fell silent again. The storm outside had passed, leaving only rain tapping against glass. I sat on the nursery floor beside Grace, surrounded by cribs and soft blankets and the scent of milk.
Isaiah slept peacefully against Grace’s shoulder. For the first time since birth, he was not crying.
I spoke without looking at her.
“How did you know Brielle’s song.”
Grace smiled sadly.
“She sang it to them when they were still in the hospital. She told me that love is a kind of medicine that cannot be written on charts. I did not want her children to forget her voice.”