“Let’s go.”
She didn’t argue.
They walked out into the snow.
The Bentley was still running, warm and safe.
Claire climbed inside and finally let herself break.
She didn’t sob.
She didn’t scream.
She just sat there, holding her daughter, shaking so hard her teeth rattled.
Edward sat beside her and said nothing.
Sometimes silence was the only kindness left.
The house Edward brought them to wasn’t the cold estate Claire remembered from childhood visits.
It was smaller.
Warm.
Lived-in.
A cottage on the edge of his property, surrounded by bare trees and soft snow.
Inside, a fire was already burning.
A bassinet stood in the corner, already made up with clean white sheets.
Claire stared at it.
“When did you—”
“I called ahead,” Edward said simply.
A woman appeared from the kitchen, older, kind-faced, holding a tray with tea and soup.
“This is Marie,” Edward said. “She helps me around the house. She’ll make sure you have everything you need.”
Marie smiled gently.
“Let me take the baby while you eat, dear.”
Claire’s arms tightened automatically.
Marie didn’t push.
She just set the tray down and stepped back.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
Claire looked down at Lily.
Her daughter’s face was peaceful now, pink and warm.
