“Who?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Find out.”
“We will.”
Victor hesitated.
“But he said something else.”
Roman waited.
“He claims Elise contacted him before she died.”
Roman’s face emptied.
“What?”
“He said she was trying to negotiate.”
“Negotiate what?”
“Kincaid wouldn’t say.”
Roman laughed bitterly.
“Elise hated him.”
“Apparently she feared something more.”
Roman stood.
“What could she possibly—”
The treatment-room doors opened.
A pediatrician walked out.
All three of us stood.
“Mr. Vale?”
Roman crossed the room in two strides.
“My sons.”
The doctor raised a hand.
“They’re stable.”
Roman stopped breathing.
I did too.
“Stable?”
“Yes.”
The doctor looked at a tablet.
“Jude was significantly dehydrated and mildly hypoglycemic. His oxygen saturation was also low when he arrived, but that improved quickly with oxygen, fluids and glucose.”
Roman closed his eyes.
“Is there permanent damage?”
“We have no indication of that.”
Roman’s knees seemed to weaken.
He sat.
The doctor continued.
“Micah and Levi are both dehydrated as well, but less severely.”
“Why wouldn’t they eat?”
“We’re still evaluating them, but we suspect a combination of abrupt feeding changes, stress and bottle refusal. We also want to rule out reflux, intolerance and infection.”
Roman looked at me.
“They drank from her.”
The doctor nodded.
“That’s encouraging.”
Roman looked back.
“What happens now?”
“They’re being admitted overnight, possibly longer.”
“Done.”
“We also need to talk about feeding support and care at home.”
“Whatever they need.”
Roman sounded desperate.
The doctor glanced at me.
“You’re Ms. Bell?”
“Yes.”
“I understand you breastfed all three before arrival.”
I suddenly felt self-conscious.
“Yes.”
“That may have helped stabilize their intake while we got them here.”
My eyes filled.
“Jude?”
“He’s sleeping.”
Roman stood.
“Can I see him?”
“Yes.”
The doctor pointed.
“One parent at first.”
Roman turned toward me.
I shook my head immediately.
“You go.”
He hesitated.
“Naomi.”
“He needs his father.”
Roman looked as though he wanted to say something.
Instead, he nodded.
Then followed the doctor through the doors.
Victor stayed behind.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Finally, he sat beside me.
“You’re either very brave or catastrophically bad at risk assessment.”
I laughed weakly.
“I get that a lot.”
“I doubt it.”
“I didn’t know who you were when I got up.”
“Everyone knows Roman.”
“I knew Roman.”
I looked at him.
“I didn’t know you.”
“That probably saved you.”
“Are you dangerous too?”
Victor considered the question.
“Yes.”
I appreciated the honesty.
“Are you going to kill Kincaid?”
Victor looked at me.
“No.”
“Roman?”
“Roman is changing.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“That sounded ominous.”
Victor leaned back.
“You met him at the exact moment his life split in half.”
“Because Elise died.”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the treatment doors.
“For fifteen years, Roman has believed every problem can be solved through control.”
“And now?”
“Three seven-pound people have informed him otherwise.”
I almost smiled.
Victor’s expression softened.
“Elise used to say the babies would either save him or destroy him.”
My throat tightened.
“She sounds smart.”
“She was.”
Victor looked down at his hands.
“She was my sister.”
I froze.
“What?”
He gave a tired smile.
“Not by blood.”
He shook his head.
“Foster family. We grew up together.”
I stared at him.
“So you lost her too.”
Victor nodded once.
The controlled man at the train door disappeared for just a second.
“I was supposed to drive her that night.”
My heart sank.
“But Roman called me away.”
There it was.
Another if only.
Another person building a prison from one decision.
“Victor.”
“I know.”
He looked at me.
“I heard what you told him in the ambulance.”
Apparently nothing stayed private around Roman Vale.
“I know what you’re going to say.”
“Then I won’t say it.”
“Thank you.”
We sat quietly.
A few minutes later, Roman returned.
His eyes were red.
“Jude opened his eyes.”
Victor stood.
Roman laughed softly.
“He grabbed my finger.”
The relief in his voice changed his entire face.
Victor put a hand on his shoulder.
Roman took a breath.
Then he looked at me.
“He’s asking for you.”
I blinked.
“What?”
Roman almost smiled.
“Not literally.”
“Oh.”
“He’s rooting again.”
My chest tightened painfully.
A lactation consultant approached behind him.
“We’d like to discuss options with you, Ms. Bell.”
I looked between them.
“What options?”
The consultant sat.
“We would never pressure you to continue feeding the babies. You have already done far more than anyone could reasonably expect.”
Roman immediately said, “Agreed.”
She continued.
“But the infants are feeding well from you, and if you’re comfortable, you could nurse them temporarily while we work on bottle transition.”
My heart began pounding.
“How temporarily?”
“A few feeds. Possibly today. Beyond that would require discussion, screening and a formal milk-sharing plan.”
I looked at Roman.
His face was unreadable.
“You don’t have to,” he said.
“I know.”
“There are donor banks. Specialists. We’ll figure something out.”
“I know.”
The consultant waited.
I thought of going home.
My silent apartment.
The bassinet I still hadn’t moved.
The freezer bags of milk I couldn’t bear to throw away.
The tiny yellow hat inside the top drawer.
I thought of Jude.
Micah.
Levi.
Three children who had lost their mother.
I thought of Lila.
One mother who had lost her child.
It would have been easy to mistake those wounds for matching pieces.
They weren’t.
Nothing could replace Lila.
I could never replace Elise.
But maybe replacement wasn’t what this was.
Maybe grief didn’t always need to become something new.
Maybe sometimes it could simply make room.
“I’ll feed them today.”
Roman’s eyes lifted.
“Naomi—”
“Today.”
I held up a hand.
“That’s all I can promise.”
He nodded.
“That’s more than enough.”
I fed Jude first.
This time, Roman sat beside the hospital bed.
Jude was stronger.
He latched immediately.
His little fingers curled around one of mine.
Roman watched with an expression I couldn’t name.
“Did Elise feed them together?”
“Sometimes two at once.”
He smiled faintly.
“She said feeding one baby at a time would require seventy-two hours in every day.”
I laughed.
“What was she like?”
Roman’s smile vanished.
For a second, I regretted asking.
Then he looked at Jude.
“Loud.”
I smiled.
“Loud?”
“She argued about everything.”
“Sounds terrible.”
“She was.”
His mouth softened.
“She hated expensive restaurants.”
“That’s inconvenient for a billionaire.”
“She ordered grilled cheese at our wedding reception.”
I laughed.
Roman did too.
“She carried twenty-dollar bills because she said I tipped like a man trying to purchase forgiveness.”
“She may have been right.”
“Oh, she usually was.”
His eyes grew distant.
“She sang badly.”
“How badly?”
“Criminally.”
“That’s ironic.”
Roman looked offended.
“Victor told you?”
“No.”
I smiled.
“Newspapers exist.”
To my surprise, he laughed.
Not the bitter sound from the train.
A real laugh.
Brief.
Rusty.
Human.
Jude startled.
Roman immediately lowered his voice.
“Sorry.”
We both smiled at the baby.
Then Roman said quietly, “Tell me about Lila.”
Everything inside me stopped.
No one had asked me that in weeks.
People asked how I was coping.
What the doctors said.
Whether I needed anything.
Whether there would be a memorial.
But nobody asked me to tell them about her.
I swallowed.
“She hated socks.”
Roman smiled.
“Already?”
“Absolutely hated them.”
I looked down at Jude.
“She could kick off any pair within thirty seconds.”
“What else?”
“She sneezed three times in a row.”
My voice trembled.
“Always three.”
Roman listened.
“And she had this little line between her eyebrows whenever she was trying to focus.”
I touched my own forehead.
“Like she had taxes to finish.”
Roman laughed softly.
“She sounds serious.”
“She was eighteen days old and already disappointed in everyone.”
We both laughed.
Then I started crying.
I tried to turn away.
Roman didn’t tell me not to.
He didn’t offer meaningless comfort.
He simply sat beside me while I cried and Jude nursed between us.
Eventually, Roman said, “She existed.”
I looked at him.
His eyes were on Jude.
“That sounds obvious.”
He swallowed.
“But I think sometimes people act like dead children disappear backward too.”
My tears came harder.
“Yes.”
“As if because they didn’t get enough time, they somehow had less life.”
I couldn’t speak.
Roman looked at me.
“Lila existed.”
I nodded.
“So did Elise.”
“Yes.”
For a while, that was enough.
The day stretched into evening.
The babies improved.
Victor brought clothes for Roman.
Roman refused to change.
Security filled the hallway until nurses repeatedly ordered them to reduce their numbers.
A hospital administrator appeared, nervous and sweating.
Roman told him he would obey every hospital rule as long as his sons received normal treatment.
I smiled when I heard that.
Normal treatment.
Maybe Roman Vale had finally discovered there was one place where billions couldn’t make him first.
Around seven that evening, my phone buzzed for the first time since the train.
I had forgotten it existed.
Twelve missed calls.
Three from my sister.
Four from my mother.
The rest from my ex-fiancé, Adam.
My stomach tightened.
Roman noticed.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes.”
The phone rang again.
Adam.
I declined it.
Roman said nothing.
Thirty seconds later, it rang again.
“Persistent.”
“He thinks persistence is a personality.”
“Who is he?”
“Someone I used to plan a life with.”
Roman understood immediately.
“Lila’s father.”
I nodded.
“Why isn’t he here?”
The question was simple.
The answer wasn’t.
“He left before the funeral.”
Roman went completely still.
“He what?”
I almost smiled at his outrage.
“He said he couldn’t survive living in the apartment with all her things.”
“So he left you there with them?”
“He said we grieved differently.”
Roman’s eyes hardened.
“That’s cowardice dressed as therapy language.”
I laughed unexpectedly.
It came out loud enough that a nurse looked in.
For the first time in seven weeks, I laughed without guilt immediately afterward.
That frightened me.
Then relieved me.
Adam called again.
Roman looked at the screen.
“You should answer.”
“No.”
“He may think something happened.”
“Something did.”
I gestured around the room.
“Just not to me.”
The phone stopped.
Then a message appeared.
WHERE ARE YOU? YOUR SISTER SAID YOU NEVER ARRIVED.
I had been going to Washington to stay with my sister for a month.
To escape my apartment.
To escape the bassinet.
To escape myself.
I typed:
I’M IN PHILADELPHIA. LONG STORY. I’M SAFE.
Three dots appeared instantly.
CALL ME.
I put the phone away.
Roman was watching.
“You don’t owe people immediate access to you.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Did a billionaire crime boss just give me healthy-boundary advice?”
His mouth twitched.
“I contain multitudes.”
Victor entered carrying coffee.
“I heard that.”
Roman glared.
“You hear everything.”
“It’s literally my job.”
Victor handed me a cup.
“Decaf.”
“Why decaf?”
“You’re nursing.”
I stared at him.
“I can drink some caffeine while breastfeeding.”
Victor looked suddenly uncertain.
Roman smiled.
“Excellent. Someone finally found something Victor doesn’t know.”
Victor took the coffee back.
“I’ll get regular.”
I laughed again.
And that was when I realized something.
The pain was still there.
Lila was still dead.
Nothing had changed that.
Yet for five seconds, I had been something besides devastated.
Grief had not vanished.
But another feeling had stood beside it.
That was new.
I didn’t know whether to trust it.
Around midnight, the babies were asleep.
All three.
Jude had IV fluids running.
Micah slept with both fists beneath his chin.
Levi made tiny snoring noises.
Roman sat between their hospital bassinets like a guard who had finally found something worth guarding.
I stood near the door.
“You should sleep.”
He looked at me.
“So should you.”
“I’m going to.”
His face changed.
“You’re leaving?”
There was no accusation.
But the disappointment hit me.
“Yes.”
He stood.
“Of course.”
I folded my jacket over my arm.
“My sister is driving up from Washington.”
“You don’t need to explain.”
“I know.”
“Naomi.”
I looked at him.
He seemed suddenly unsure.
Roman Vale.
Unsure.
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“That isn’t true.”
“It is.”
“You saved Jude.”
“The doctors saved Jude.”
“You got him to them.”
“You agreed to stop the train.”
“Because you forced me to.”
“I strongly suggested.”
“You insulted my intelligence in front of an entire first-class car.”
“You were behaving unintelligently.”
Roman smiled.
Then the smile faded.
“You walked toward my sons.”
My throat tightened.
“Everyone else moved away.”
“I know.”
“I’ll never forget that.”
I looked at the sleeping babies.
“Neither will I.”
Roman reached into his coat.
Immediately, I frowned.
“If you take out a checkbook, I’m going to slap you.”
He froze.
Then slowly removed his hand.
Victor, standing outside the room, made a choking sound.
Roman looked offended.
“I wasn’t taking out a checkbook.”
“What were you taking out?”
“My card.”
“Same problem.”
“It has my number.”
“Oh.”
I felt ridiculous.
Roman reached into his coat again and handed me a simple black card.
ROMAN VALE.
One phone number.
Nothing else.
“No title?”
“I assume people know who I am.”
“Modest.”
“Very.”
I took the card.
His fingers brushed mine.
“Call if you ever need anything.”
“I’m not taking a favor from a crime boss.”
His expression went innocent.
“Alleged.”
I stared at him.
Roman almost smiled.
“Businessman.”
“Terrifying businessman.”
“That’s closer.”
I put the card in my pocket.
“For emergencies.”
“Any emergency.”
My sister arrived at 12:37 a.m.
Claire entered the hallway at a run.
When she saw me, she wrapped both arms around me so tightly I could barely breathe.
“What happened?”
“I’m okay.”
“You missed your train stop.”
“I know.”
“You texted me ‘long story’ from a hospital.”
“I know.”
She pulled back.
Then saw Roman.
Her face drained of color.
“Oh.”
Roman nodded politely.
“Ms. Bell.”
Claire looked at me.
Then at him.
Then at the security.
Then through the glass at the three bassinets.
“Naomi.”
“Yes?”
“What did you do?”
I laughed.
“I fed some babies.”
She stared at me.
“What?”
“It really is a long story.”
Roman stepped forward.
“Your sister saved my sons.”
Claire looked at him.
Then at me.
Tears instantly filled her eyes.
Because she understood what that meant.
Not the danger.
Not Roman.
The feeding.
My milk.
My grief.
“Oh, Naomi.”
She hugged me again.
And this time I cried.
Not because of Jude.
Not because of Roman.
Because my sister knew exactly what it had cost me to hold another baby.
Roman quietly turned away.
We left ten minutes later.
As I reached the elevator, I looked back.
Roman stood outside the babies’ room.
He had Jude against his chest.
Jude was asleep.
Roman lifted one hand.
I lifted mine.
The elevator doors closed.
I thought that was the end.
It should have been.
Life was not a movie.
Strangers did not usually collide on trains, save one another and remain permanently connected.
I went to Washington with Claire.
Roman stayed in Philadelphia with his sons.
For three days, I heard nothing.
I told myself that was good.
The babies were probably improving.
Roman was probably busy.
I slept fourteen hours the first night at Claire’s apartment.
The second night, I woke at 3:14 a.m. because I could hear a baby crying.
I sat bolt upright.
The apartment was silent.
No baby.
No Lila.
No Jude.
No Micah.
No Levi.
Only memory.
I sat on the edge of the bed and cried until sunrise.
On the fourth morning, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then something made me answer.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then—
A baby screamed.
I sat up.
A man cursed.
Another baby screamed.
Then Roman’s exhausted voice said, “I need assistance.”
I started laughing.
“Roman?”
“This is not funny.”
“What happened?”
“They came home yesterday.”
“That’s good.”
“That was my initial assessment.”
Another baby screamed.
Roman raised his voice.
“Jude has been awake since two. Micah refuses the bottle again. Levi somehow removed his diaper without removing his pajamas.”
I laughed so hard I had to sit down.
“How?”
“I have no idea.”
“Where’s Victor?”
“He abandoned me.”
In the background, Victor said, “I am standing six feet away.”
Roman ignored him.
A baby wailed.
I closed my eyes.
My body responded.
Immediately.
Of course it did.
Roman went quiet.
Then said, more softly, “They miss you.”
My chest hurt.
“They don’t know me.”
“They know something.”
I looked out Claire’s window.
Morning light over Washington.
“You have lactation support?”
“Yes.”
“Donor milk?”
“Yes.”
“Bottle specialist?”
“Coming at ten.”
“Good.”
Roman sighed.
Then something changed in his voice.
“I wasn’t actually calling because they need milk.”
I waited.
“I wanted you to know Jude gained three ounces.”
My eyes filled.
“Oh.”
“And Micah took almost four ounces from a bottle yesterday.”
