Unease crept in as he climbed the marble stairs. Lily’s nursery door stood slightly open.
Inside, Grace knelt beside the crib, her back stiff. The air carried a faint metallic scent. When she turned, her face was streaked with tears, eyes red and panicked. In her hands was a small lock of blond hair.
Michael’s gaze snapped to the crib.
Lily lay there peacefully—but her head was completely shaved.
Rage surged through him. He was seconds from shouting when he noticed Grace’s expression. This wasn’t guilt. It was terror.
Before he could speak, Lily stirred. Michael stepped closer—and froze.
Behind her left ear was a faint reddish mark, previously hidden by her hair. It wasn’t random. It formed a precise spiral.
“I had to,” Grace whispered, pointing with trembling fingers. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”
“What is this?” Michael demanded, though his anger had turned cold.
Grace hugged herself. “It was growing. Changing. I saw it while bathing her. At first, it was just a dot. Then a line. Every day it became clearer.”
Michael knelt, staring at the mark. It didn’t look like a scar. It looked deliberate.
