Chapter 7

Alexander 's POV

My breath fogged in the crisp air as I strolled into the entrance of the hospital, shoving one hand into the pocket of my coat while the other held my phone to my ear.

Sophia’s voice droned on, sharp and relentless.

“You know, Owen is like this because he’s sick—” I rolled my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose.

Same argument, different day. Her words were a dull buzz in the background, just another layer to the weight already pressing down on me.

I was about to interrupt when something hit me—a sudden, solid impact against my leg.

Startled, I looked down and saw a little girl sprawled on the pavement. She’d bumped into me head-on, landing square on her backside, her dress puffing up around her.

She looked up, her face scrunched in irritation, her big hazel eyes narrowed as if preparing to give me a piece of her mind. But then her expression changed.

Her gaze locked on mine, and her eyes lit up like I was Santa Claus handing out puppies.

“Uncle!” she said, her voice high and full of exaggerated indignation. “I think my bottom is broken in half!”

I blinked, trying to decide to be amused.

Sophia’s voice on the phone faded into static as I lowered it, ending the call mid-sentence. I crouched down to the girl’s level, fighting back a mild smirk.

“Oh no,” I said seriously. “Well, we can’t have that, now can we? How do you think I should make it up to you, kid?”

She leapt to her feet, brushing off her dress with dramatic flair. Her hands planted on her tiny hips as she tilted her head at my eyes, considering me with a surprising amount of authority for someone who would normally come up to my waist.

“Well…” she began, dragging the word out. “Are you married? You could be my daddy! I’ll put you in... number 12!”

That did it. I laughed low, the sound bouncing my shoulders once. She was bold, I’d give her that.

“Number 12, huh?” I said, shaking my head. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m already taken.”

Her face fell, her pout so exaggerated it was almost comical. “Why is it that all the good daddies are already married?”

I smirked, glancing away for a moment as that familiar ache crept up on me.

Before I could say anything else, a woman appeared—her mother, by the looks of it—rushing toward us with an apologetic smile, her blonde curls dancing around her face.

“I’m so sorry about her,” she said, scooping the girl up into her arms, almost leaving my sight just as fast.

“It’s fine,” I replied, straightening up. “No harm done.”

The little girl, unfazed by the interruption, waved enthusiastically over her mom’s shoulder. “Bye, Uncle! Remember—number 12!”

I chuckled under my breath, watching them disappear into the flow of people. Her energy lingered, a small spark of light in what had otherwise been a bleak day.

But as I turned back through the hospital doors, something—or rather, someone—stopped me in my tracks.

I saw her.

It couldn’t be.

The air seemed to leave my lungs as my eyes locked on a woman moving down the hallway inside. Her brown curls hair, her posture, the way she carried herself—it was impossible.

“Lauren?” I whispered, the name escaping before I could stop it.

My chest tightened, my heart racing in a way that made my pulse throb in my ears.

No. It wasn’t her. It couldn’t be.

I stared, my feet rooted to the ground as the woman turned a corner and disappeared from view.

I closed my eyes for a moment, forcing myself to breathe. Lauren was gone. She had been for years. My mind was playing tricks on me. That was all it was.

Shaking my head, I made my way to the elevator doors and up to Owen’s room. The sterile smell hit me immediately, the beeping monitors and muffled voices a familiar soundtrack to my visits here.

Owen was exactly where I expected to find him, hunched over his laptop, his small frame half-hidden behind the screen. His fingers flew across the keys, his focus unwavering.

“Hey, bud,” I said, stepping inside.

He didn’t respond. Typical.

I leaned against the wall, watching him for a moment. His dark hair fell over his eyes, and the glow of the screen reflected on his face.

There was a time I’d hoped to connect with him, to break through the walls his diagnosis had built. But as the years passed, that hope faded into resignation.

Owen was Owen—silent, withdrawn, and locked in his own world. And I loved him for who he was, even if I didn’t know how to reach him.

I couldn’t help but think of the little girl from earlier. She was so full of life, so fearless in her joy.

If Lauren had been here—if she’d been Owen’s mother—would things have been different?

The thought hit me harder than I expected, a pang of longing settling deep in my chest.

Lauren had been patient, kind, everything I wasn’t. She would’ve known what to do, how to bring Owen out of his shell and improve him slowly.

But she wasn’t here.

And she never would be.

Owen's POV

I sat cross-legged in the chair, my laptop on my knees. The screen glowed, lighting up the room that was kind of dark. My fingers hovered over the keys, not pressing anything yet.

I had to be careful. This wasn’t like when I looked up fun facts or games to play. This was different.

Her name—Ava—kept playing in my head, like a song that wouldn't stop. I didn’t know why it felt so important, but it really did.

The picture on the screen didn’t look new or fancy. It was just a normal photo I found hidden deep in the internet, like it didn’t want to be found.

She was smiling, but not that big smile people do when they’re told to “say cheese.” It was a small smile, a real one. Her eyes were kind of squinty like she was really happy, not pretending.

But there was something else, too—something about her face that made my chest feel funny, like a tight little knot that wouldn’t go away. I couldn’t figure out what it was, but I knew her somehow. I felt like I did.

I had seen her picture before. It was in Dad’s study, tucked away in a folder with old papers. When I found it, I felt that same funny feeling, like a zap that made my heart skip. And now, looking at her again, it was even stronger.

Could she… really be my mom?

The thought wouldn’t leave me. It kept buzzing in my head, like one of those guards that follow Dad and me around, always watching, never stopping.

I didn’t have a mom. Not one that felt like one anyway. Just Dad, and then... Sophia.

Sophia.

Just thinking about her made my stomach twist. She always smiled and acted sweet when Dad was around. But when he wasn’t?

“Monster,” she’d whispered once. It was a mean, sharp word. She thought I didn’t hear, but I did. I always heard.

I told myself I didn’t care. Her words didn’t matter. But they did. Not like I wanted to cry about it, but they made me tougher. Like the hate in her words carved me into something harder.

She didn’t want me around. She made sure I knew it, too. She always said stuff like, “When we have our real family.” I wasn’t dumb. I knew exactly what she meant.

I sat up straighter in the chair, looking at the clock on my laptop. I’d been searching for hours. It felt like no time at all. Outside, I could hear the sound of a cart rolling down the hall, and people talking softly. The lights in the hospital hummed.

I quickly closed all the tabs, just in case, and lowered the screen when the door creaked open.

“Hey, bud,” Dad said, walking into the room. His voice was calm, sharp, and controlled, like usual. Everyone said I looked just like him, but honestly, I didn’t didn’t see it.

I looked up at him, my face blank.

“How was treatment today?” he asked, leaning against the wall.

I shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

I almost told him. I almost said, I think I saw Mommy today. The words were stuck in my throat. But I didn’t say them. Not yet. Not until I was sure.

Dad smiled at me, but it wasn’t a real smile. It was one of those smiles adults give when they’re thinking about something else. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he checked it.

“Good,” he said, patting the doorframe. “Let me know if you need anything, alright? I gotta take this.”

I watched him leave. The door clicked shut behind him.

As soon as he was gone, I opened my laptop again. The search bar was staring at me, waiting.

Ava.

I typed her name again, my fingers moving faster. There were still so many questions in my head, but I wasn’t going to tell anyone. Not until I was sure.

I’d figure it out. Then I’d tell Dad.