For four hours, Dr. Patel monitored Lily.
Four hours of beeping machines, blood pressure cuffs, quiet questions, and Grace trying not to imagine all the ways fear could still win.
Megan arrived halfway through with a bruised cheek, a split lip, and the particular expression of someone who had already decided she would rather make jokes than be fussed over.
“I’m fine,” she announced before anyone could ask. “You should see the other guy.”
Angela Brooks, standing near the foot of Grace’s bed with a tablet in her hand, raised an eyebrow.
“Megan,” Grace said, horrified. “What happened?”
Megan waved her off. “There was a security guard. There was also a mop bucket. The mop bucket and I formed a temporary alliance.”
“She knocked a grown man unconscious with a janitor’s cart,” Angela said dryly.
Megan shrugged. “Improvisation is a life skill.”
Grace would have laughed if she had not started crying again.
Megan’s face softened. She came to the bed and took Grace’s free hand. “Hey. You’re here. Lily’s here. That’s what matters.”
Angela Brooks took Grace’s statement in careful increments. She did not push too hard, but she did not let the details disappear either. Police came and went. Federal agents asked questions. Nurses checked vitals. A technician adjusted the monitor when Lily shifted away from it like an offended queen refusing surveillance.
Through all of it, Sebastian stayed in the corner unless Grace asked him closer.
Not because he did not want to come.
Grace could feel his attention on her with nearly physical weight. Every wince she failed to hide. Every time the monitor crackled. Every time Dr. Patel entered the room. But he did not command. He did not demand. He did not assume.
He waited.
Near midnight, after Dr. Patel reviewed the tracing for the third time and finally smiled, some invisible fist around Grace’s ribs loosened.
“She looks perfectly fine,” the doctor said. “Strong heartbeat, good movement, no signs of distress. You’ll be sore. You’ll need rest. But from what I can see, Lily is doing beautifully.”
The words landed too gently for how much they meant.
Grace nodded.
Then she covered her face with both hands and sobbed.
It came out of her all at once—the terror in the church basement, the memory of Malcolm’s hand on her arm, the sound of Sebastian hitting the wall with him, the years she had spent not asking for much and still having to fight for every inch of safety. She cried for Lily. For herself. For the girl she had been before Sebastian Rourke walked into her life like a storm with perfect tailoring and ruined everything before he tried to save it.
Sebastian rose halfway from his chair.
Then stopped.
His hands curled at his sides.
“Can I come closer?” he asked.
That question undid her more than any apology could have.
Grace lowered her hands. Tears blurred him at the edges, turning him into something less sharp, less unreachable.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He crossed the room slowly and sat beside the bed. He did not touch her. He waited until she reached for him.
Grace extended her hand.
Sebastian took it like a vow.
His fingers closed around hers with aching care, as though he knew he was holding something already broken once and would never forgive himself if it broke again.
“You knew about your father?” she asked after a long silence.
Sebastian looked down at their joined hands.
“I suspected for years,” he said. “Not everything. Not the details. But enough to know there were shadows in places no one wanted me looking.” His thumb moved gently over her knuckles. “I proved it last week.”
Grace’s throat tightened. “Your father caused the accident.”
“Yes.”
The word seemed to cost him.
“My father ordered it,” Sebastian said. “Malcolm covered it. Together, they buried the investigation, bought statements, erased records, paid people to forget what they had seen. The mechanic kept copies because men like that always think evidence is insurance.”
“And you found him.”
“I found the trail. Angela helped. The FBI already had pieces. I gave them the rest.”
Grace studied him. There were dark hollows beneath his eyes. A faint bruise along his jaw. Dust still clung to his shirt. He looked nothing like the cold, untouchable man who had once stood in front of her and told her that her pregnancy was inconvenient.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
Pain moved across his face.
“I thought if I told you before the arrests, Malcolm might find out. I thought I was protecting you.” He exhaled shakily. “And maybe part of me was still deciding what truths I had the right to give and when. Still controlling the room even while I told myself I’d changed.”
Grace did not look away.
“No more after,” she said.
He knew exactly what she meant.
No more I’ll tell you after the danger passes.
No more you’ll understand later.
No more secrets dressed up as protection.
Sebastian bowed his head. “No more after. I know. I’m sorry.”
Grace looked at him for a long time.