Chapter 61

Lauren

I blinked, rubbing my eyes before leaning in again, scanning Owen’s latest blood test results. The numbers blurred for a second, forcing me to refocus.

Ever since I found out he was my son, I’d been obsessing over his medical records—blood work, test results, every scrap of information from the past few years.

I couldn’t stop.

It felt good to be working again, even if the patient was my own child. Even if I was doing it in a hospital my ex-husband owned.

My ex-husband.

I exhaled sharply, rubbing my temples, but the warmth of his hands from the other night crept into my thoughts. My skin still remembered the way he touched me, his hands tracing up my hip. Cursing under my breath, I pushed the memory aside and focused on the papers again.

The cold glow of the hospital monitor illuminated the oddity that had been staring at me for the past hour, and yet, no matter how many times I ran the test, the results stayed the same.

A mistake. It had to be a mistake.

Sighing, I pushed back from my desk and glanced across the room where Owen sat on the examination table, swinging his legs like he didn’t have a care in the world. His dark curls flopped over his forehead as he hummed some tune I half-recognized, his fingers absently playing with the hem of his shirt. So oblivious. So completely unbothered.

If only I could say the same.

“Hey, champ,” I said, schooling my features into a neutral expression. “Feel like giving me one more vial? Promise I’ll make it quick.”

Owen grinned. “Are you just saying that so I won’t freak out?”

I cracked a small smile. “Is it working?”

He rolled his eyes but stuck out his arm anyway. “You’re lucky I’m the bravest patient in this entire hospital, Ma.”

“Oh, I know.” I smirked, keeping my expression light, even as the word settled deep in my bones, warming something I hadn’t realized was cold.

Ma.

I still wasn’t used to it. Maybe because some part of me still hadn’t fully grasped the impossible truth—that this boy, with hair and eyes as dark as Alexander’s, was my baby. The one I lost. The one I mourned. And yet, here he was, right in front of me.

Life is strange.

But as my fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from his cheek, I knew one thing for certain.

I am blessed.

I worked quickly, withdrawing the sample as gently as possible. When I finished, Owen’s attention had already drifted elsewhere. My own, however, remained frozen on the screen behind me.

The machine wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t broken. This wasn’t an error in sequencing.

It was something else. Something new.

And I had no idea what it meant.

Thirty minutes later, I was standing in the hallway, phone pressed tightly to my ear as I listened to the clipped, familiar voice on the other end.

“You wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t serious.”

I exhaled. “It’s… not life-threatening.”

A pause. “But?”

I glanced over my shoulder at Owen, now sitting in the waiting area, thoroughly engrossed in a handheld game. Lowering my voice, I continued, “It’s his bloodwork, Alexander.”

“Yes?” He questioned, “He’s our son. We know, what are you—”

“There’s something in it that doesn’t register—like a gap in the sequencing.” I snipped, cutting him off. “I ran the test three times. The machine isn’t broken. It’s just… never seen this before. Like it’s outdated or something.”

Silence crackled through the line. I could picture him now, brows furrowing, that sharp, calculating look overtaking his features as his mind spun through the possibilities.

“What exactly are you saying?” he asked.

I exhaled slowly. “I have no idea yet. That’s the problem.”

“How does something like this get overlooked for years? If it’s a problem.”

“It’s not a problem, it’s an anomaly,” I corrected, sharp. My back hit the wall as I sighed.

“An anomaly that’s starting to sound a lot like a problem,” he shot back.

I pointed at the air like he was here to scold him. “See, that’s the issue. You hear ‘anomaly’ and immediately translate it to ‘impending doom.’”

“Because that’s usually how anomalies work!”

“Not necessarily!”

“Name one time an anomaly was a good thing.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. “…That’s not the point.”

“You’re not exactly frazing this positively,” his dry chuckle swiped my ear.

I groaned, pacing. “Listen, we’re geting off track. TDLR, I don’t knwo what it is, but I know where we might get answers. There’s a facility in the Alps—highly specialized in rare blood anomalies. I did an internship there in school. They have equipment that could identify whatever this is.”

A longer pause this time, the weight of it pressing against my ribs. “You want to take Owen across the world based on a theory?”

I bit my lip. “I want to take him where we can get clarity.”

Another beat of silence. Then, “I’ll handle it.”

I stiffened. “Alexander—”

“I’ll arrange everything,” he cut in smoothly. “Flights. Accommodations. You’re right. We need answers.”

We.

I shouldn’t have reacted to that word. I shouldn’t have let it dig into me like a knife twisting under my skin. But it did.

“There’s no ‘we’ in this, Alexander,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “This is about Owen.”

“Of course.”

Except the way he said it—so controlled, so effortlessly detached—sent a shiver through me.

“I mean it.” I repeated, even if my voice lacked force.

“Heard.”

I exhaled, pressing my fingers to my temple. “I’ll text you the hospital’s information. I’ll need to make arrangements here before I can leave.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“That’s not necessary—”

“Lauren.”

My breath caught.

His voice had softened, just slightly, but enough that I felt it in my chest. A reminder. An echo of the past.

“I’ll handle it,” he repeated, quieter this time.

I closed my eyes. “Fine.”

Then, before he could say anything else, I ended the call.

The next few days were a blur.

Between coordinating the trip, making sure the hospital had everything they needed in my absence, and assuring Owen and Abigail that, no, this was not some top-secret spy mission, I barely had time to process the weight settling in my stomach.

Not until the final night before departure.

Not until I found myself standing by the window of Alexander’s home, staring out at the city lights in the distance, phone in my hand, rereading a message I had already read ten times.

“Flight confirmed. Pack warm. I’ll see you and the kids at the terminal tomorrow. -A”

A text. He must be working late again tonight. This was the fourth day in a row… I wonder how the Pack was doing.

I clenched my jaw, focusing. Pack warm. A scoff escaped my throat. He was always giving me his gloves back then. Something I always forgot. “Your hands are always cold. Here, hold mine.”

I should have deleted the text. I should have let it go.

Instead, I typed three words before I could stop myself.

Don’t be late.

Then I hit send.

And I wasn’t sure whether I wanted him to answer or not.