2. A Cry That Chose Only One Heart
Richard stood motionless, unable to pull his eyes away from the sleeping infant.
The room had fallen so quiet that the ticking of the antique clock on the far wall sounded unusually loud.
Finally, he spoke.
"Untie her."
Olivia turned sharply.
"What?"
"You heard me."
Her composed expression hardened.
"Richard, she's unstable. She locked herself in here with your son."
"And she's still tied to the bed," he replied without raising his voice. "I'd like someone to explain how that happened."
Neither of them spoke.
Richard glanced toward the doorway.
"James."
The elderly butler entered almost immediately.
"Yes, sir?"
"Untie Miss Carter."
James hesitated only briefly before stepping forward. He carefully loosened the wide white restraints from Emma's wrists. The moment the pressure disappeared, she winced as blood rushed painfully back into her hands.
She never complained.
She simply adjusted the baby carrier with trembling fingers, making sure the newborn remained secure against her chest.
Richard noticed every movement.
"So," Olivia said coolly, "what now? Are we pretending nothing happened?"
Emma lowered her eyes.
"I never wanted any of this."
Richard stepped closer.
"Then tell me why you were in here."
Before Emma could answer, the baby stirred.
A tiny frown crossed his sleeping face.
Then came a soft whimper.
Within seconds, the whimper became a full cry.
Emma instinctively rocked him.
"It's okay," she whispered.
Richard reached toward his son.
"I'll take him."
Emma hesitated.
Only for a heartbeat.
Then she carefully handed the baby over.
The moment Richard lifted him into his arms, the crying intensified.
He shifted the infant gently, speaking in the calm voice he had practiced for weeks.
"It’s okay, buddy."
The cries only grew louder.
Olivia quickly set down her wine glass.
"Give him to me."
She smiled confidently as she took the baby.
For several long seconds she bounced him gently.
Nothing changed.
The newborn cried harder, his tiny face turning red with frustration.
Olivia's smile faded almost imperceptibly.
"He's overtired."
Richard frowned.
"He wasn't crying a minute ago."
"Babies change quickly."
Another servant entered carrying a bottle.
"It may be feeding time."
Olivia accepted it immediately.
The baby refused it.
His crying echoed against the marble floor and high ceiling, filling the elegant bedroom with raw desperation.
Emma stood several feet away, rubbing life back into her sore wrists.
She never once asked for the baby.
She simply watched.
Her breathing grew uneven.
James shifted awkwardly beside the door.
Even the housekeeper looked uncomfortable.
Richard had never seen his son cry like this.
Not even during doctor's visits.
Then Emma spoke so quietly that everyone almost missed it.
"May I try?"
Olivia answered first.
"No."
Richard looked at the infant.
His tiny fists were clenched.
His entire body had become rigid.
Another heartbreaking cry escaped him.
Richard made his decision.
"Give him to Emma."
Olivia stared at him.
"Richard—"
"Now."
Reluctantly, she placed the crying newborn back into Emma's arms.
Emma immediately rested him against her chest exactly as before.
She didn't bounce him.
She didn't shush loudly.
She simply wrapped one hand across his back and began humming a soft melody barely louder than her own breathing.
The effect was almost immediate.
The crying weakened.
The tiny body relaxed.
Within moments, the infant released one final sigh and settled peacefully against her heartbeat.
Silence returned.
No one moved.
Richard blinked.
James quietly removed his glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief, as if giving himself something to do.
The housekeeper exchanged a nervous glance with another servant.
Olivia remained perfectly still.
Her face betrayed nothing.
Only the tight grip around the stem of her wine glass hinted at the pressure building beneath her calm exterior.
Richard stepped closer.
"Has he... done that before?"
Emma nodded gently.
"Almost every day."
"You never told me."
"I tried."
She looked down.
"I wasn't allowed to."
Richard slowly turned toward Olivia.
"What does that mean?"
Olivia answered without hesitation.
"She's exaggerating. The baby simply became attached to the person who spent the most time feeding him."
Emma finally met Richard's eyes.
"I wasn't the one feeding him."
The sentence hung in the room like a crack spreading across glass.
Richard felt something shift inside him.
For weeks, he had believed he understood everything happening inside his own home.
Now, standing in the middle of his own bedroom, surrounded by people he trusted, he realized he might know almost nothing at all.
May you like
And for the first time since his son was born, he began to question not Emma...
...but the woman standing beside him.
