Page 90 of Silence and Surrender

Until Isabella.

I hadn’t imagined the baby at all, hadn’t given thought to anything except how it would affect her wellbeing and our relationship. But now, I let myself envision a future with her, my child growing inside her.

It was a beautiful picture, one I hadn’t know that I wanted, but now that the chance was here, I needed it.

Needed this baby to be mine.

And somewhere in this building, there was a piece of paper that would change everything.

Isabella sat perfectly still in one of the leather chairs, her hands folded in her lap. Controlled. But I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers twisted together.

It had been ten weeks since we’d been together that night in the tunnels. For ten weeks, this child could have been growing inside of her.

If it was mine.

I’d spent the past few weeks holding her through nightmares, and watching her grow stronger. Of falling more in love with her every day. This baby…it just had to be mine.

The waiting room seemed to shrink around us, time stretching impossibly thin. Each passing minute amplified the questions spinning through my mind. What would this mean for us? For her? For the fragile future we’d barely begun to imagine? I tried to keep my expression neutral, but my pulse betrayed me, thundering in my ears.

“Isabella?” A nurse appeared with a clipboard.

Isabella’s hand found mine as we followed the nurse to a private consultation room. Her fingers were cold despite the warm Italian morning.

“The doctor will be in shortly,” the nurse said, closing the door behind her. I noticed an envelope tucked in the clipboard that she’d left. Was that it? The results?

Everything we’d been waiting for…

“Talk to me,” I said softly, putting my arm around her shoulders. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking about probabilities.” Her voice was steady, even though her fingers shook. “About statistics and likelihood and—”

“Isabella.”

She broke off, squeezing my hand. “I’m terrified,” she whispered. “Either way, I’m terrified.”

“Whatever those results say,” I pulled her closer, kissing her temple. “Nothing changes. I love you. I’m here.”

“Everything changes.” But she leaned into me, seeking comfort. “If it’s not yours...”

The door opened and the doctor entered—an elegant Italian woman in her forties, her hair swept into a perfect chignon. The kind of physician who had probably delivered half of Tuscany’s elite.

“I have your results,” she said in lightly accented English, picking up the envelope. Her eyes were kind but professional. “Would you like me to tell you, or would you prefer to read them yourselves?”

Isabella’s hand tightened on mine. “Tell us. Please.”

The doctor opened the envelope with careful movements. I felt like my heart might explode from my chest.

“The paternity test is a positive match,” she said simply. “Congratulations, Mr. Moreau.”

The world stopped spinning.

Then started again, brighter. Clearer. More real than it had ever been.

In that frozen moment, every fear I’d buried came rushing to the surface. All those nights I’d lain awake, terrified the test would confirm my worst nightmare—that someone had violated her during those blank spaces in her memory, that her body had been used in the most intimate way without her consent. That every time she placed her hand on her growing belly, she was touching a reminder of trauma she couldn’t even remember.

The relief hit me like a physical force. Not some nameless monster’s child. Mine. Ours. Created in love, not violence.

My mind raced back to that night in the tunnel. The desperate fear as we fled, the way we’d sought comfort in each other’s arms, finding a moment of connection in the darkness. How we’d clung to each other, finally giving voice to feelings we’d danced around for too long. We had created life that night. While danger pursued us, we had unknowingly done the most defiant thing possible…we had created a future.

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