Chapter 144

The moment Sophia stepped into the hospital room, her breath caught in her throat.

Liam lay motionless on the bed, his small frame swallowed by the sterile white sheets. His face was pale, his breathing shallow.

She rushed to his side, her heart pounding like a drum.

"Liam?" Her voice trembled as she reached for his hand. It was cold. Too cold.

A nurse—Charlotte—hovered nearby, her expression grim. "His fever spiked again. The doctors are doing everything they can."

Sophia swallowed hard, fighting the panic clawing at her chest.

Just then, the door swung open.

Ethan Blackwood strode in, his dark eyes stormy with barely contained fury. His jaw was clenched so tight she could see the muscle twitching.

"What the hell happened?" His voice was low, dangerous.

Sophia flinched. She had never seen him like this—not even during their divorce.

Charlotte hesitated. "We're still running tests, but—"

"Find out. Now." Ethan's command left no room for argument.

The nurse nodded and hurried out.

Silence fell, thick and suffocating.

Sophia couldn't take it. "He was fine this morning," she whispered. "He just had a little cough."

Ethan didn't look at her. His gaze remained fixed on Liam, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

Then, without warning, he turned on his heel and walked out.

Sophia stared after him, stunned.

But she didn't have time to dwell on it.

Because Liam stirred, his eyelids fluttering open.

"Mom?" His voice was weak, barely audible.

Tears welled in her eyes. "I'm here, baby. I'm right here."

He tried to smile, but it was a fragile thing, breaking her heart all over again.

Then his face twisted in pain.

And the machines around them started screaming.

"Liam, have you finished your homework?" I call out, but there's no response.

It's Friday afternoon, and exhaustion weighs me down like a lead blanket. Pregnancy fatigue hits harder than I remembered—every little task feels like climbing a mountain. The only silver lining? No morning sickness this time, unlike when I carried Liam.

"Liam?" I try again, louder.

Silence.

That's unusual. He always answers right away unless something has completely captured his attention.

Before I can drag my weary body upstairs to investigate, the doorbell rings.

I sigh, rubbing my temples. Not that I don’t want company—I just crave a moment to myself. A long, hot bath sounds like heaven right now.

My day at the Hope Foundation was grueling—piles of documents, endless signatures, and a headache that refuses to fade. My eyes sting, my mind is mush, and my back protests with every step.

Reluctantly, I shuffle to the door and swing it open—only to freeze.

Lucas Montgomery and his son, Oliver, stand on my porch.

It's been two days since our awkward backyard encounter. When Oliver didn’t show up to meet Liam after school, I assumed Lucas had decided to keep his distance. He’d been downright frosty that day.

"Hi," I say, unable to mask my surprise.

"Hello, Miss Sophia!" Oliver chirps, beaming up at me. He thrusts a bouquet of pink roses into my hands. "These are for you!"

My heart melts. "Thank you, sweetheart. They're gorgeous." Without thinking, I bend down and press a kiss to his cheek.

When I straighten, he grins shyly, his cheeks pink. Just like Liam, Oliver radiates sweetness.

I glance at Lucas, who’s watching us with an unreadable expression. "Would you like to come in?"

He hesitates, but Oliver tugs his hand insistently. Finally, Lucas nods.

I lead them to the kitchen, where the scent of vanilla and sugar lingers in the air. Liam had begged for cookies and cupcakes, and despite my exhaustion, I couldn’t say no.

"Perfect timing," I say as the oven timer dings. "Fresh treats."

I grab a vase for the roses, arranging them carefully before setting out a plate of warm cookies.

"Liam!" I call again.

"Coming, Mommy!" His voice echoes from upstairs.

A door slams. Footsteps thunder down the hallway, then the stairs. Seconds later, he bursts into the kitchen—and skids to a halt when he spots our guests.

"Come here, sweetheart," I say, beckoning him.

Liam hesitates, then shuffles over, pressing against my side. He’s shy at first glance, but once he warms up? Good luck getting him to stop talking.

"Liam, this is Oliver. He lives next door. Oliver, this is my son, Liam."

I brace for awkwardness, but the boys surprise me.

"Hi," Oliver says softly.

"Wanna see my room?" Liam blurts at the same time.

Oliver nods eagerly. "Yeah!"

Just like that, Liam grabs a handful of cookies, shoves them into Oliver’s hands, then dashes to the pantry for juice boxes.

"Come on! I got a new game!" he announces, already dragging Oliver toward the stairs.

I blink. That was… effortless.

Lucas exhales, breaking the silence. "Didn’t expect that. Oliver’s usually the last kid to make the first move."

I turn to face him, having momentarily forgotten he was still here. "Liam’s the same way. Takes him a while to warm up."

Lucas shakes his head. "No, Oliver’s different. He prefers being alone. Doesn’t like making friends. At school, he keeps to himself. Honestly? I think Thor and I are his only friends."

My stomach twists. That’s not normal for a child his age.

As a teacher, I know withdrawal like that usually stems from something deeper. And judging by the way Lucas looks at Oliver—like he’s the center of his universe—it’s not a parenting issue.

Something else is hurting that sweet boy. And whatever it is, it runs deep.