Chapter 3
The baby slept between them.
“I gave him a name.”
Sebastian looked up.
“What?”
Claire smiled.
“Elliot.”
Sebastian glanced toward the incubator.
“Elliot Miller.”
“Yeah.”
“He looks like an Elliot.”
“You say that like you've met many.”
“I've met three.”
“And?”
“Two were accountants.”
Claire laughed again.
That became the beginning of something none of us expected.
Not friendship exactly.
Something quieter.
Sebastian never asked Claire why she'd stayed away.
Claire never asked Sebastian about the stories in the newspapers.
They simply met in the same place each morning and learned how to care about Elliot.
Claire asked Sebastian how to hold him when she was afraid.
Sebastian admitted he'd been terrified the first time too.
He showed her how Elliot liked one hand resting lightly across his back.
She showed Sebastian the song her grandmother used to sing.
Bit by bit, the empty space around bed nine began filling.
A photograph appeared.
Then a small knitted hat Claire brought from home.
Then a card with ELLIOT written in careful blue marker.
He was no longer Baby Boy Miller.
He had become somebody.
A week later, Marissa called me into the consultation room.
Sebastian and Claire were already there.
Claire looked nervous.
Sebastian looked unreadable.
Marissa closed the door.
“The relative I mentioned has agreed to be evaluated as a possible placement resource.”
Claire stared at the table.
“My aunt.”
Sebastian looked at her.
“You know her?”
Claire nodded.
“My mom's sister. Ruth.”
“Is that good?”
“I don't know.”
Marissa answered carefully.
“Ruth appears stable. She lives about forty minutes away. She has two children, both older. She has expressed willingness to support Claire as well, provided certain boundaries are respected.”
Claire picked at the edge of her sleeve.
“She hasn't spoken to my mom in years.”
“Why?” Sebastian asked.
Claire hesitated.
“Family stuff.”
Sebastian nodded.
He understood that answer better than most.
Marissa slid a folder toward Claire.
“This doesn't mean Elliot will be removed from you. The goal is still to identify the safest long-term plan. Ruth could become part of your support network.”
Claire looked close to tears.
“What if she hates me?”
“She called because she wants to help.”
“That's not the same thing.”
“No,” Marissa said. “But it can be a beginning.”
Sebastian had gone completely still.
I noticed because I'd seen that stillness before.
The first night.
When I'd asked about Matteo.
“Mr. Moretti?” I said.
He didn't hear me.
His eyes were fixed on the folder.
More specifically, on the name printed across the top.
Ruth Bellamy.
Sebastian stood so suddenly his chair scraped the floor.
Claire looked startled.
“What?”
He stared at the page.
“What's her name?”
Marissa frowned.
“Ruth Bellamy.”
Sebastian's face had lost all color.
I stood.
“Sebastian?”
He looked at Claire.
“Your aunt's last name is Bellamy?”
“Yes.”
“Has it always been?”
“I think so.”
He turned to Marissa.
“How old is she?”
“I can't disclose—”
“Please.”
Something in his voice stopped her.
Not authority.
Not threat.
Desperation.
Marissa glanced at Claire.
Claire nodded uncertainly.
“Forty-three,” she said. “Maybe forty-four.”
Sebastian pressed one hand against the table.
“Does she have a son?”
Claire blinked.
“Two daughters.”
“No son?”
“Not that I know of.”
Sebastian closed his eyes.
I thought he might leave.
Instead, he sat back down.
“What is happening?” Claire asked.
Sebastian looked at her.
“There was a woman named Celia Bellamy.”
Claire stared at him.
“Bellamy?”
“She married my father.”
The room became silent.
Sebastian continued carefully.
“She raised my younger brother.”
Claire's confusion deepened.
“Okay.”
“Celia had a sister.”
He looked toward the folder.
“Her name was Ruth.”
Marissa slowly sat down.
“You think Claire's aunt is the same Ruth?”
“I don't know.”
Claire looked between them.
“What does this have to do with Elliot?”
“Maybe nothing,” Sebastian said immediately.
But his hands were trembling.
Only slightly.
Enough that I noticed.
He covered one with the other.
“Celia took Matteo away seventeen years ago. Ruth helped her.”
Claire stared at him.
“My Aunt Ruth?”
“If it's the same woman.”
Claire shook her head.
“I've barely seen her. She and my mom stopped speaking before I was ten.”
“Do you know why?”
“No.”
She looked at Marissa.
“Did she say anything?”
Marissa seemed unsettled now too.
“Only that she became aware of Elliot's situation through a mutual acquaintance and believed she could help.”
Sebastian stood again.
This time slowly.
“I need some air.”
He left.
I found him on the hospital roof garden.
The bracelet was in his hand.
Again.
“You're developing a habit,” I said.
He didn't turn.
“Celia's maiden name was Bellamy.”
“You think it's the same Ruth.”
“I think coincidence exists.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Sebastian looked across the city.
“Ruth was there the day Matteo left.”
“What happened?”
“My father was ill. Celia wanted to move north. She said Matteo needed a clean start.”
“And you agreed?”
“No.”
His answer came quickly.
“Then?”
“My father made the decision.”
“You were his brother.”
“I was also deeply involved in a life he didn't want Matteo near.”
Sebastian looked down.
“I was angry for years.”
“At your father?”
“At everyone.”
He rubbed his thumb across the bracelet.
“Then eventually I understood.”
“You understood why they left?”
“I understood why they believed they had to.”
That was growth I hadn't expected from him.
“What did Ruth do?”
“She drove them to the airport.”
“You never saw Matteo again?”
“No.”
“Did Celia contact you?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“Six months later.”
“What did she say?”
Sebastian's face tightened.
“That Matteo was safe. That he was adjusting. That he had started school.”
He swallowed.
“And she asked me not to look for them.”
“So you didn't.”
“Not immediately.”
A faint, humorless smile.
“I wasn't especially good at respecting requests back then.”
“What changed?”
“I found them.”
My breath caught.
“You said you didn't know where Matteo was.”
“I don't now.”
“But you did then?”
Sebastian nodded.
“Two years after they left.”
“What happened?”
“I watched him from across a park.”
The image hit me harder than I expected.
Matteo at nine.
Sebastian at thirty-three.
Close enough to see.
Too far away to speak.
“He looked happy,” Sebastian said.
“He was playing soccer. Celia was sitting on a bench. Ruth was there too.”
“Did you go over?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Matteo fell, and before I could even move, three people ran to him.”
His voice softened.
“Celia. Ruth. Another man I didn't recognize.”
He stared at the bracelet.
“He wasn't alone anymore.”
“So you left.”
“Yes.”
“You never contacted him?”
“No.”
“Sebastian.”
He looked at me.
“You were his brother.”
“And loving someone does not automatically mean you are entitled to enter every version of their life.”
I had no answer to that.
After a moment, he added, “I sent birthday cards through an attorney for several years. No return address. No expectation.”
“Did he receive them?”
“I don't know.”
“Why did you stop?”
“Celia died.”
I felt the pieces shift again.
“When?”
“Eight years ago.”
The same amount of time Sebastian had been volunteering in children's hospitals.
I understood.
“That's when you started the comfort program.”
He nodded.
“After her death, I tried to locate Matteo again. Ruth had moved. Records became complicated.”
“And you never found him.”
“No.”
A hospital helicopter crossed the sky in the distance.
We listened until the sound faded.
Then I asked, “Do you think Ruth knows where he is?”
Sebastian turned toward me.
“If this is the same Ruth, she might.”
Ruth Bellamy came to the hospital three days later.
Not because of Sebastian.
Because of Elliot.
Marissa insisted everything proceed normally.
No surprises.
No ambushes.
Sebastian agreed to stay away during Ruth's visit.
He meant to keep that promise.
Then I saw Ruth step from the elevator.
She was a petite woman with silver threading through dark hair.
She carried a canvas bag and looked nervous.
Claire stood beside me.
Ruth stopped when she saw her niece.
For a second, neither moved.
Then Claire said, “Hi.”
Ruth's face softened.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
She didn't rush toward her.
Didn't force an embrace.
She simply held out her hands.
Claire took them.
That told me more about Ruth than any background report could.
“I'm glad you called,” Claire whispered.
Ruth squeezed her hands.
“I'm sorry I didn't call sooner.”
Claire's eyes filled.
“Me too.”
They walked toward the NICU together.
I stayed slightly behind.
We had nearly reached the security doors when a voice came from the hallway.
“Ruth.”
She stopped.
Sebastian stood twenty feet away.
He must have been returning from the cafeteria.
For once, his timing was terrible.
Ruth turned.
Her face changed.
Not with fear.
Recognition.
Deep, immediate recognition.
“Sebastian.”
Claire looked between them.
“So you do know each other.”
Ruth released Claire's hands.
For several seconds, she simply stared at Sebastian.
“You got older.”
“So did you.”
A tiny smile appeared.
It vanished quickly.
“I wondered if this day would come.”
Sebastian's eyes searched her face.
“You knew I'd been coming here?”
“No.”
May you like
“Then what day?”
Ruth looked at Claire.
