Chapter 4 - Through the Looking Glass
The Bedford estate was covered in a pristine blanket of fresh white snow.
I stood in the tree line at the edge of the woods, wearing a worn, secondhand coat, my boots soaked through with ice water. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
At precisely 2:05 PM, the glass doors of the heated garden pavilion opened.
A nurse pushed a sleek dark navy stroller out onto the heated stone pathway. She parked it under the covered pergola, draped a warm wool blanket over the top, and stepped inside the adjacent greenhouse to prepare a bottle.
The grounds were quiet.
I stepped out from the treeline, my feet crunching softly in the snow. My hands trembled violently. Every legal instinct told me I was risking prison time by stepping onto this property, but every instinct as a father dragged me forward.
I reached the stroller.
I gently pulled back the edge of the wool blanket.
Inside sat Noah.
He was eight months old now. He wore a tiny red snowsuit with bear ears on the hood. He had big, bright blue eyes—my eyes—and a round, chubby face with two tiny front teeth poking through his gums. He was chewing happily on a wooden teething ring.
Tears spilled over my lashes, freezing on my cheeks.
"Hey, buddy," I whispered, my voice raspy and broken.
Noah stopped chewing. He looked up at me, his wide blue eyes blinking curiosity. He didn't cry. He didn't shrink away.
Slowly, hesitatingly, I took off my glove, warming my freezing hand against my breath, and extended one finger toward him.
Noah reached out his tiny, gloved fist and wrapped his fingers around my thumb.
I fell to my knees in the snow beside the stroller, burying my forehead against the edge of his blanket, weeping softly so I wouldn't scare him.
"I'm sorry, Noah," I choked out, my tears soaking into the navy fabric. "Daddy was a foolish, selfish coward. I built a house of cards and let it destroy us. But I swear to you, my little boy... I am going to rebuild. I will work every second of my life until I am a man you can be proud of."
Noah made a soft, happy gurgling sound and pulled lightly on my thumb.
"Mr. Carter?"
I froze.
I stood up quickly, wiping my eyes, stepping back from the stroller.
Standing ten feet away, holding a thermos of tea, was Linda Vance—Claire’s mother.
She looked at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of old anger and profound sorrow. She looked at my worn boots, my frayed coat, and my tear-stained face.
"Mrs. Vance," I rasped, stepping back toward the woods. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be here. Please don't call the police. I'm leaving."
"Julian, wait," Linda said softly.
I stopped.
She walked over to the stroller, checking on Noah, then turned to face me.
"Claire’s fever broke this morning," Linda said quietly. "She’s out of the ICU."
A massive weight lifted off my chest. "Thank God," I breathed.
"She asked about you yesterday," Linda continued.
I blinked in surprise. "She did?"
"She asked Richard if you were still working at the bakery," Linda said, watching my reaction closely. "She asked if you had stayed in contact with Vanessa. Richard told her you were living in a studio in Astoria, working sixty hours a week, and paying back your debt."
I lowered my eyes. "I will pay back every penny, Mrs. Vance. It will take me ten years, but I will do it."
Linda looked down at Noah, who was reaching his arms out toward me.
"When Claire was in high school," Linda said softly, her gaze drifting back to the past, "she found a stray dog that had been hit by a car. Its leg was shattered, it was starving, and it bit anyone who came near it. Everyone told her to let the city put it down. But Claire spent three months sitting in the garage, feeding it by hand, earning its trust until it healed. That dog protected her for twelve years."
Linda looked up at me, her expression serious. "Claire doesn't hate you because you failed, Julian. She hates you because you traded something precious for something cheap. She thought you were a prince, and you proved to be a beggar."
"I was a beggar," I admitted, my head bowed in shame. "I thought money and power made me a man. I was wrong."
Linda reached into her pocket, pulled out a small silver key, and held it out to me.
"This is the key to the estate's side gate," she said quietly. "If you come on Sunday mornings at six o'clock before the staff arrives, you can have one hour with your son. If Claire finds out, she will fire the nurse and banish me from her life. Do not make me regret this."
May you like
I took the key with trembling fingers, looking at Linda as if she had just handed me the keys to heaven.
"Thank you," I sobbed. "Thank you, Mrs. Vance."
