Time slipped by, and Maximus Anderson transformed from a clueless father into a full-time, hands-on super-dad.

Every single day, he sat by Rose’s bedside. He talked to her about everything—recounting old memories and updating her on the mundane details of their present. He kept her skin supple, massaging her limbs and bathing her with a devotion that bordered on the religious. He had stripped his life down to the essentials, handing off the grueling day-to-day operations of the Anderson Group to his assistants. He only stepped in for the major crises, preferring to spend his days as a house-husband, finding an odd, quiet satisfaction in the routine.

When Shiloh turned one, Maximus threw a lavish birthday party, officially naming the boy Shiloh Anderson—a name chosen to whisper the memory of Rose every time he called out to his son.

At the party, the little boy was a blur of chubby cheeks and wide, curious eyes. Maximus took hundreds of photos, his voice thick with a forced, fragile smile as he told the guests, "I’m saving these for when Rose wakes up. She needs to see how much he’s grown."

The guests would only offer awkward, strained smiles in return. They knew the truth—Rose had been in a coma for a year. The odds of her waking were infinitesimal. But Maximus remained iron-willed. He refused to entertain the doubt. She was just punishing him, he told himself. She was just taking a long nap, and eventually, she would open her eyes. She loved the boy too much to stay away forever.

By the second year, when Caspian Hughes married, Maximus brought Shiloh to the wedding. He insisted that Rose would have wanted to see her old friend find happiness. He took more photos, narrating the events of the day to his wife as if she were standing right there beside him, promising to show her every frame once she returned.

By the third year, Shiloh had finally found his voice. He was a late talker, but when he started, he didn't stop. Maximus sat by the bed, his usual monologue flowing.

"Rose, darling, I finally got him to say 'Daddy' today. But I’ve been with him every waking second, so why on earth was 'Mommy' his first word?"

Maximus let out a dry, mirthless chuckle. "Do I repeat your name too often when I talk to him? You’d better wake up soon, or he might actually forget how to say it."

He looked down at his son, who was currently playing on the floor. "He was crawling and sitting up ages ago, but he’s still not walking. Look at those chubby little legs—he just doesn't want to exert himself. Is he just being lazy? You need to wake up and discipline him."

He paused, brushing a strand of hair from Rose’s forehead. "He’s three now. I’m thinking of hiring a private tutor to start his reading. My mother says you used to read poetry to him when you were pregnant. I’ll find someone today. That way, even when I’m tied up with work, he can sit here and read to you. It’ll keep you company, won't it?"

By the fourth year, Shiloh was reciting classic nursery rhymes and fables. He became a fixture at Rose’s bedside, often reciting his latest schoolwork or chattering away about the mischief he’d caused that day, just like his father.

Maximus often complained to Rose that the boy was becoming a handful, always pulling pranks. Yet, Shiloh had a way with people; whenever he video-chatted with his grandparents, he could charm them into laughter with a few sweet words. But the boy had a sensitive soul, too. He would help his father tell stories, hum gentle lullabies to his mother, and even reach out to knead the tension from Maximus’s tired brow.

There were moments when Shiloh would tilt his head and ask, "Why is Mommy sleeping so much? Why won't she play with me?"

The question always hit Maximus like a physical blow. He would fight back the sting of tears, forcing a calm tone as he explained that Daddy had done something very bad, and Mommy was still a little angry—that she needed to sleep for a while longer to get over it. He used these moments to teach Shiloh to be gentle and obedient, warning him that if he misbehaved, Mommy would only stay asleep longer.

Every day, Maximus stood his post. When he had to work, he did it from the chair beside her bed. When he was exhausted, he simply watched the rise and fall of her chest, staring at her face—still as breathtakingly beautiful as the day he first saw her. He was waiting. And so was Shiloh.