After the medical team retreated, the room quieted into an intimate bubble for the three of them. Marcellus sat by the bed, his thumb tracing the back of Evangeline’s hand in a slow, rhythmic caress.

Evangeline looked ghostly pale. Her hair was matted to her forehead, damp with sweat, and were it not for the shallow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, she might have looked like a porcelain doll someone had simply discarded. Seeing the doctors press on her stomach earlier—and noticing the heavy, stained pads beneath her—had felt like a jagged blade twisting in his gut.

He would have traded places with her in a heartbeat if he could.

"Waaah! Waaah!"

The sudden wail of the newborn shattered the silence. Marcellus stood up, pacing the small space like a caged animal. He hovered over the cradle, his hands lifting and falling in hesitation. He hadn't the slightest clue how to handle something so fragile.

The nurse, waiting just outside the door, heard the commotion and slipped in quietly. She scooped up the infant. "Sir, will you and the lady be going with formula or breast milk?"

"…Formula, I suppose."

"Marcellus?"

He practically lunged back to the bedside. "Evangeline? You’re awake. Are you in pain?"

Evangeline shook her head weakly, holding out her arms. "Give her to me. I’m breastfeeding."

The nurse glanced between the two of them, looking hesitant.

"Evangeline, let’s stick to formula," Marcellus urged, his voice tight with concern. "The baby will grow just fine, and I don’t want you draining yourself. It’s too exhausting."

"No. I’m doing it myself."

Seeing her iron-willed stubbornness, Marcellus relented. He gestured sharply to the nurse to hand the baby over. As Evangeline cradled the infant to her chest, her movements shifted—nature taking the wheel.

The moment the baby latched, a jolt of something primal surged through Evangeline. Her heart felt like it was liquefying, and a single tear slipped silently down her cheek.

"What is it? Does it hurt?" Marcellus scrambled to reach for the baby, but Evangeline slapped his hand away.

"Get back. Don’t you dare touch my baby."

"Evangeline…"

Marcellus wore a look of utter, kicked-puppy defeat. Normally, she would have teased him or smoothed things over, but her entire universe had shrunk down to the tiny life in her arms. He didn't even register.

The baby’s suckling triggered a fresh round of contractions, and Evangeline winced as beads of cold sweat broke out on her brow. She clamped her lips shut, refusing to pull away.

Her sudden shift in color terrified him. "What’s wrong? Where does it hurt? Tell me!"

Evangeline furrowed her brows, her voice sharp with exhaustion. "Can you just keep it down for five minutes?"

The nurse spoke up from the corner. "Sir, the suckling stimulates the release of oxytocin, which helps the uterus contract and clears out the residual fluids. It’s perfectly normal. No need to panic."

"Then why is she treating me like I’m the enemy?"

The nurse shared a pitying look with Evangeline before explaining. "It’s maternal instinct, sir. The 'mama bear' effect. It's completely natural."

"Right," Marcellus muttered, slumping into a chair by the window.

Through the night, the baby woke every two or three hours. Marcellus spent the time shadowing the nurse, learning exactly how to change a diaper. After two or three clumsy attempts, he had the technique down to a science. He realized then just how grueling parenting was. Since he couldn't take over the feeding, he insisted on doing everything else, determined to save her every ounce of unnecessary strain.

The next day, Leland Alexander arrived before he was even seen, his booming laughter echoing down the hallway. Marcellus rushed to the door, peering out and holding a finger to his lips.

"Quiet! The baby is sleeping!"

"Good grief, what is this? A panda den?" Leland quipped, eyeing Marcellus’s disheveled, sleep-deprived appearance.

Leland crept into the room, leaning over the bassinet to inspect the bundle. His face split into a grin so wide it looked like it might crack his skin. "This little one… she’s got your features from when you were an infant, Evangeline."

"Everyone says that," Marcellus mumbled, pacing behind him. "Is she really? I don't see it."

The comment didn't escape Evangeline. "She doesn't look like me?"

"…She’s the spitting image of you!" Marcellus corrected himself instantly. At a time like this, he wouldn't dare suggest the baby was anything less than perfect.

Leland pulled a black bank card from his pocket and tucked it under Evangeline’s pillow. "Evangeline, we haven't had a girl born into the Alexander line for five generations. Five! You’ve done a great service for this family. This is just a little token of my appreciation—three hundred million to start the baby’s college fund, or whatever else you fancy."

Evangeline flashed a tired, genuine smile. "Thank you, Grandpa."

"Don't thank me, child. I should be thanking you." Leland stared at the baby, utterly smitten. "Have you two picked a name? Or would you like me to take a crack at it?"

Marcellus shot the idea down immediately. "No. We’ve already settled on one."

Leland sighed, feigning disappointment. "Very well. You are the parents, after all. What’s the name?"

"Aurora," Evangeline said softly. "Aurora Alexander."

"Lovely," Leland nodded. "You young people have a knack for the elegant."

Knowing she needed rest, Leland didn't linger. Once he left, Evangeline turned her gaze to Marcellus. "We had a whole list of names prepared. I don't remember 'Aurora' being on it."

"I thought of it last night," Marcellus admitted. "A nod to the morning light, and the way your face holds that same grace. Do you like it?"

"I love it."

The pain in her stomach was still searing—it had been twenty hours since she’d been able to roll over, and she felt as though her spine had been fused to the mattress. "Marcellus, my back and hips are killing me."

He was at her side in an instant, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. "Evangeline, last night, with your 'mama bear' act… I was genuinely worried you’d decided you didn't need me anymore now that you had her."

"Ha! Oh—" She laughed, but the movement caused a sharp tug at her stitches. She glared at him. "Marcellus, just wait until I’m back on my feet. I’m going to make you pay for calling me a mama bear."

"I’ll be waiting. Just get better soon." He slid his hand beneath her, his touch feather-light as he began to massage her aching lower back.

Suddenly, a head poked through the door. Remi Crawford caught sight of the scene and started waving her arms wildly, suppressing a squeal of delight. She crept over to the bassinet, her face melting into an expression of pure auntie-bliss.

She looked at Evangeline and gave her two thumbs up. "Evangeline, you’re incredible! Look at those double eyelids, that tiny nose, those rosebud lips. She’s going to be a heartbreaker. She looks just like you."

Everyone kept saying the baby looked like Evangeline. Marcellus was starting to suspect he was the only one in the room who wasn't blind. To his eyes, she just looked like a wrinkled, tiny old man.

He hovered over the cradle again, squinting. "Hmm."

"Marcellus, what was that 'hmm' for?"

Evangeline’s voice held a warning tone that made his blood run cold.

*Internal Monologue: Damn it, the disappointment showed. Evangeline, please, let me explain!*

"Oh! I was just thinking… she’s got a bit of my look, too. See?"

Evangeline didn't press it, dismissing his comment as a father’s typical, petty jealousy over genetic traits. "Yes, she looks like you. She's your daughter, isn't she?"

"…"

That comfort was remarkably thin.