Morning light had barely touched Chicago when Ethan returned to St. Catherine’s with Daniel.
The reunion almost didn’t happen.
Hannah had been transferred from intensive care to a private recovery room. She was pale, weak, and demanding to see the twins.
Then the door opened.
A little boy stepped inside.
Hannah stared.
For one second, there was no recognition.
Then Daniel’s eyes met hers.
Something ancient and instinctive moved through her.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
“No…”
Daniel stopped beside Ethan.
“Hannah,” Ethan whispered, “this is Daniel.”
Her entire body began shaking.
“No.”
“I confirmed the birth records. Genetic testing is being expedited, but—”
“My baby?”
Daniel looked uncertainly between them.
Hannah reached out.
Not touching him.
Not yet.
As though one movement might make him disappear.
“You’re Daniel?”
The child nodded.
Hannah broke.
A sound came from her unlike anything Ethan had heard—a wounded, joyful cry dragged from five years of grief.
