That’s not my child, the multimillionaire snarled, ordering his wife to take the baby and leave. If only he had known.
What are you doing? Simon Fletcher asked, his voice as cold as steel the instant Blythe Harper stepped over the doorway, a newborn swaddled against her chest. There was no surprise, no wonderonly a flash of irritation. Do you honestly expect me to accept this?
He had just returned from another weekslong business tripcontracts, meetings, flightshis life a relentless carousel of airport lounges and conference rooms. Blythe had known this before they married and taken it as part of the bargain.
They met when she was nineteen, a firstyear medical student, and he was already the sort of man she had once doodled in her teenage diary: established, confident, unshakable. A rock to lean on. With him, she believed, she would be safe.
So when an evening meant to be one of her brightest moments twisted into a nightmare, something inside her cracked. Simon stared at the child, his face turning foreign. He hesitatedthen his voice cut like a blade.
Look at himnothing of me. Not a single feature. This is not my son, understand? Are you trying to pull the wool over my eyes?
The words slashed. Blythe stood rooted, her heart hammering against her throat, fear ringing in her ears. The man she had trusted with everything was accusing her of betrayal. She had loved him wholly; she had given up her plans, her ambitions, her old life to become his wife, to bear his child, to build a home. And now he spoke to her like an enemy at the gate.
Her mother had warned her.
What do you see in him, Blythe? Mabel Hart would say. Hes nearly twice your age. He already has a child. Why volunteer to be a stepmother? Find an equal, someone who will be your partner.
But Blythe, glowing with first love, hadnt listened. To her, Simon wasnt just a manhe was fate itself, the protective presence she had craved since childhood. Growing up without a father, she longed for a strong, reliable husband, the keeper of a family she could finally call her own.
Mabels caution seemed inevitable; to a woman of Simons years, he looked a peer, not a match for her daughter. Still, Blythe was happy. She moved into his spacious, wellappointed London townhouse and began to dream.
For a while, life did look perfect. Blythe kept at her medical studies, living out, in part, her mothers unrealised wishMabel had once wanted to be a doctor, but an early pregnancy and a vanished husband had smashed that dream. She raised Blythe alone. The absence of a father left a hollow that made her daughter lean toward the promise of a real man.
Simon filled that space. Blythe imagined a son, a complete family. Two years after the wedding, she learned she was pregnant. The news flooded her like spring light.
Her mother fretted. Blythe, what about your degree? You wont throw it all away? Youve worked so hard!
The fear was reasonablemedicine demanded sacrifices: exams, rotations, relentless pressure. But none of it mattered in the face of what grew within her. A child felt like the meaning of everything.
Ill return after maternity leave, she said softly. I want moretwo, maybe three. Ill need time.
Those words set every alarm in Mabels heart. She knew what it meant to raise a child alone; hard years had taught her prudence. Have only as many children as you can raise if your husband walks, she liked to say. And now her worst thought stood on the doorstep.
When Simon threw Blythe out as if she were a nuisance, something in Mabel snapped. She gathered her daughter and grandson close, fury trembling in her voice.
Has he lost his mind? How could he? Wheres his conscience? I know youyou would never betray.
But warnings and years of quiet advice collided with Blythes stubborn belief in love. All Mabel could say now was bitter and simple: I told you who he was. You didnt want to see.
Blythe had no strength for reproach. The storm inside her left only pain. She had pictured a different homecoming: Simon taking the baby, thanking her, embracing themthree of them welded into a real family. Instead: coldness, rage, accusation.
Get out, you traitor! he shouted, his decency shredding. Who is this? You think I dont know? I gave you everything! Without me youd be crammed in a flat, barely scraping through med school, slaving in some forgotten clinic. And you bring another mans child into my house? Am I supposed to swallow that?
Shaking, Blythe tried to reach him. She pleaded, told him he was wrong, begged him to think.
Simon, remember your daughter when you brought her home? She didnt look exactly like you at first. Babies change; features emerge with timeeyes, nose, gestures. Youre a grown man. How can you not understand?
Not true! he snapped. My daughter looked exactly like me from the start. This boy isnt mine. Pack your things. And dont count on a single penny!
Please, Blythe whispered through tears. Hes your son. Do a DNA testit will prove it. Ive never lied to you. Please believe me, even a little.
Go to laboratories and humiliate myself? he barked. You think Im that gullible? Enough. Were finished.
He burrowed deeper into his certainty. No plea, no logic, no memory of love could pierce it.
Blythe packed in silence. She lifted her child, took one last look at the house she had wanted to make a hearth, and stepped into the unknown.
There was nowhere else to go but home. As soon as she crossed her mothers threshold, the tears came.
Mum I was so foolish. So naive. Forgive me.
Mabel did not cry. Enough. Youve given birthwell raise him. Your life is beginning, hear? Youre not alone. Pull yourself together. Youre not quitting your studies. Ill help. Well manage. Thats what mothers are for.
Words failed Blythe; gratitude flooded her in place of speech. Without Mabels steady hands, she would have shattered. Her mother fed and rocked the baby, shouldered night shifts, and guarded Blythes line back to school and forward to a new life. She didnt complain, didnt scold, didnt stop fighting.
Simon vanished. No alimony, no calls, no interest. He slipped away as if their years together had been a fever dream.
But Blythe remainedno longer alone. She had her son. She had her mother. In that small, real world, she found a deeper love than the one she had chased.
The divorce felt like a building collapsing inside her. How could a future so carefully imagined turn to ash overnight? Simon had always had a difficult temperamentjealous, possessive, a man who mistook suspicion for vigilance. He had explained his first divorce as a financial disagreement. Blythe had believed it. She hadnt understood how easily he erupted, how swiftly he lost control over the smallest, most innocent things.
In the beginning he had been tenderness itselfattentive, generous, solicitous. Flowers for no reason, questions about her day, little surprises. She thought shed found her forever.
Then Oliver was born, and she poured herself into motherhood. As he grew, she recognized a duty to herself too. She went back to university, determined to be not just a graduate but a true professional. Mabel backed her in every waychildcare, money when it was tight, encouragement when it wasnt.
Her first work contract felt like a flag planted on new ground. From then on she supported the family herselfmodestly, yes, but with pride.
The chief physician at the clinic saw something immediatelyfocus, stamina, a hunger to learn. A seasoned woman with clear eyes, Dr. Tatiana Stevens, took Blythe under her wing.
Being a young mother isnt a tragedy, she told her gently. Its strength. Your career is ahead of you. Youre young. What matters is that you have a spine.
Those words were a pilot light. Blythe kept going. When Oliver turned six, a senior nurse at his grandmothers hospital reminded her, not unkindly, that school was coming fast and the boy wasnt quite ready. Blythe didnt panic; she acted. Tutors, routines, a small desk by the windowshe built the scaffolding for his first steps into study.
Youve earned a promotion, Tatiana said later, but you know how it isno one advances here without the numbers behind them. Still you have a gift. Real medical instinct.
I know, Blythe answered, calm and grateful. And Im not arguing. Thank youfor everything. Not only for me. For Oliver.
Oh, enough, Tatiana waved, embarrassed. Just justify the trust.
Blythe did. Her reputation grew quicklycolleagues respected her, patients felt safe in her care. The compliments piled up; even Tatiana wondered aloud if there were too many.
And then, one afternoon, the past stepped into Blythes office.
Good afternoon, she said evenly. Come in. Tell me what brings you.
Simon Fletcher had followed a recommendation to the best surgeon in the city and had assumed the shared initials were coincidence. The second he saw her, doubt ended.
Hello, Blythe, he said quietly, a tremor under the words.
His daughter, Cressida, had been ill for a year with something no one could name. Tests inconclusive, specialists baffled. The child was fading.
Blythe listened without interruption. When he finished, she spoke with clinical clarity.
Im sorry youre going through this. Its unbearable when a child suffers. But we cant afford delays. We need a complete workupnow. Time is not on our side.
He nodded. For once, he did not argue.
Why are you alone? she asked. Where is Cressida?
Shes very weak, he whispered. Too tired to sit up.
He tried for composure, but Blythe heard the storm beneath his restraint. As always, he moved as if money could batter down fate.
Help her, he said at last. Please. Whatever it costs.
Olivers name never surfaced. Once, that would have split Blythe open. Now she filed it awayan old wound that had scarred over.
Professional duty steadied her. Patients are not divided into ours and theirs. Still, she wanted him to understand: she wasnt a miracle worker.
A week later, after exhaustive testing, she called. Ill operate, she said. Her certainty steadied him even as fear shook him.
What if what if she doesnt make it?
If we wait, we sign a sentence, Blythe replied. We try.
On the day of surgery, he hovered at the clinic, unable to leave, as if presence were prayer. When Blythe finally emerged, he rushed forward.
Can I see her? Just a minutejust say a word
Youre speaking like a child, she said, more gently than the words. Shes waking from anaesthetic. She needs hours of rest. The operation went wellno complications. Tomorrow.
He did not explode. He didnt insist that he was the father and the rules didnt apply. He only nodded and walked into the night.
He went home a broken figure, slept not at all, and returned before dawn. The city was fogshrouded and empty; he noticed none of it. Cressida was awake now, fragile but improved. When she saw him at such an hour, she smiled faintly.
Dad? You shouldnt be here.
I couldnt sleep, he admitted. I had to see you breathing.
For the first time, Simon felt what fatherhood truly was. How little of real family he had, and how much of it he had ruinedtwiceby will and by weakness.
When daylight thinned the windows, he stepped into the corridorspent but oddly lighterand nearly collided with Blythe.
What are you doing here? she asked, edged with irritation. I made the rules clearno visits outside hours. Who let you in?
Im sorry, he said, eyes lowered. No one. I asked the guard. I just needed to be sure she was all right.
The same old story, then, Blythe exhaled. You thought money would open the door. Fine. Youve seen her. Consider the mission accomplished.
She passed him and slipped into Cressidas room. He waited in the hall, unwilling to walk away.
Later, he came to her office with a springscented bouquet and a neat envelope tucked under his jacketgratitude, not only in words.
I need to speak with you, he said, steady now.
Briefly, she replied. Time is scarce.
She held the door open. He hesitated, searching for a beginningand fate cut the knot.
The door burst inward and an elevenyearold boy marched in, all indignation and energy.
Mom! Ive been standing out there forever, he said, scowling. I called youwhy didnt you answer?
That day had been marked for himno emergencies, no operations. Work had a way of devouring promises; guilt flickered across Blythes face.
Simon froze. The boy stood before him like a living echo.
My son, he managed. My little boy.
Mom, who is this? Oliver asked, frowning. Has he lost it? Hes talking to himself.
Blythe went rigid. This was the man who had called her a liar, abandoned them, erased them as if deleting a line of text.
But she said nothing. Pain surged; behind it, something else smolderedsmall but unmistakably alive.
Simon was drowning in remorse and a fear that he did not deserve a second chance. He didnt understand why this door had opened to him at all. He only knew he was gratefulfor the dawn after a night of prayer, for a child breathing, for a woman who had once loved him and now, despite everything, had saved his daughters life.
