“They sent us home,” he muttered. “Said Dr. Cross has everything under control. That I’m just an anxious father.”
Lily screamed in his arms, her face turning frighteningly dark.
Without thinking, I stepped forward.
“Mr. Warren… may I try? Just for a moment.”
He hesitated, then handed her to me.
I held Lily against my chest, skin to skin, humming softly—the same lullaby I once sang to Noah.
The change was instant. Her body relaxed. The screaming stopped.
Nicholas stared.
I gently touched Grace’s head. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”
Within minutes, both babies were asleep.
That was when Dr. Vivian Cross appeared.
“What is going on here?”
She stood in the doorway, flawless and furious, her gaze locking on me.
“Why is household staff handling medically fragile infants?” she snapped. “I gave strict instructions.”
“Vivian,” Nicholas said quietly, “look at them. They’re calm.”
Dr. Cross yanked Lily from my arms. The baby whimpered immediately.
“This means nothing,” she said sharply. “She’s suppressing symptoms. Get out.”
Nicholas apologized, torn, and I obeyed—but I knew something was wrong.
Over the next week, the pattern became impossible to ignore.