The apartment gradually grew quieter.
The tension that had filled the living room earlier slowly faded.
At least on the surface.
Ellie yawned loudly as Lillian guided her toward her bedroom.
The little girl was still clutching her stuffed bunny against her chest.
Her eyelids were already drooping.
"Tired?"
Lillian asked softly.
Ellie nodded.
"A little."
"A little?"
"A lot."
That made Lillian smile.
The little girl climbed onto her bed.
Immediately disappearing beneath the blankets.
Lillian sat beside her.
Gently brushing blonde hair away from her forehead.
The fever was gone.
The cough had improved.
Her daughter was healthy again.
The relief still hadn't fully faded.
Ellie snuggled deeper beneath the blankets.
Then looked up.
"Mommy?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"The sick man."
Lillian immediately knew who she meant.
Sebastian.
Her chest tightened slightly.
"What about him?"
Ellie hugged her stuffed bunny.
"Will he be okay?"
The innocent question caught her off guard.
Lillian thought about Sebastian sitting on her couch.
The alcohol.
The hospital.
The nosebleed.
The exhaustion.
Then she thought about the man he'd once been.
And the man he'd become.
"I hope so."
Ellie seemed satisfied with that answer.
A few moments later her eyes closed.
Within minutes she was asleep.
Lillian remained beside the bed for a little while longer.
Watching her daughter breathe peacefully.
Then she quietly stood.
Turned off the light.
And left the room.
Back in the living room, Chloe was gathering her things.
She looked toward the couch.
Then toward Lillian.
The expression on her face immediately made Lillian nervous.
"What?"
Chloe lowered her voice.
"I don't like this."
Lillian sighed.
"Neither do I."
"No."
Chloe glanced toward Sebastian.
"I mean really don't like this."
Lillian followed her gaze.
Sebastian was still sitting on the couch.
The cloth pressed against his nose.
Head tilted back slightly.
Eyes closed.
At first glance he looked asleep.
But something about him felt different.
More alert.
More aware.
As though he were thinking about something.
Something important.
Lillian looked back at Chloe.
"You're worrying too much."
"Am I?"
The question made Lillian hesitate.
Because Chloe rarely worried without reason.
Before she could answer, Chloe spoke again.
"He keeps looking at her."
Lillian's stomach tightened.
Not because she disagreed.
Because she'd noticed too.
The hospital.
Earlier tonight.
The way Sebastian's attention kept drifting toward Ellie.
Not suspiciously.
Just...
Carefully.
Observantly.
Like he was trying to solve something.
Chloe grabbed her coat.
"Just be careful."
Then she headed for the door.
Lillian watched her leave.
And suddenly the apartment felt much quieter.
Much smaller.
Much harder to breathe in.
The front door clicked shut behind Chloe.
Silence settled.
For the first time all evening, Sebastian was alone.
The alcohol was beginning to wear off.
Unfortunately, that meant his thoughts were becoming clearer.
And clarity was the last thing he wanted.
His hand tightened around the cloth.
The apartment was still.
Peaceful.
A strange contrast to the storm currently unfolding inside his head.
Without meaning to, his thoughts drifted back to the little girl.
Again.
And again.
And again.
The memory replayed itself.
Her standing in front of him.
Her serious expression.
The way she'd bluntly informed him that he was bleeding.
A small smile almost appeared.
Almost.
Then he remembered something.
One word.
Mommy.
His eyes opened.
The realization landed instantly.
Lillian had a daughter.
The thought should have been obvious.
Yet somehow it hadn't fully registered until now.
Because he'd spent so much time wondering who the child was.
Not who she belonged to.
His gaze drifted toward the hallway.
Toward the bedroom where she'd disappeared.
Lillian had a daughter.
The thought repeated itself.
Then another memory surfaced.
Three years ago.
The breakup.
The resignation.
Personal reasons.
That was all she'd said.
Personal reasons.
At the time he'd barely cared.
Not because it wasn't important.
Because he'd been too busy trying to survive losing her.
The memory made his chest ache.
Slowly he lowered the cloth.
His nose had finally stopped bleeding.
Yet he barely noticed.
His thoughts had become fixed elsewhere.
Three years ago.
The child looked around three.
Maybe slightly younger.
Maybe slightly older.
But close enough.
Far too close.
His pulse suddenly quickened.
No.
The thought arrived before he could stop it.
No.
Impossible.
Immediately his mind pushed back.
Lillian would have told him.
Wouldn't she?
The certainty felt weaker than he expected.
His jaw tightened.
Because another memory surfaced.
The hospital.
The way Lillian had positioned herself protectively.
The way she'd avoided answering questions.
The way Chloe practically looked ready to jump out of a window whenever he asked about the child.
One memory after another.
One piece after another.
None of them proved anything.
Yet together they formed something terrifying.
A possibility.
What if she's mine?
The thought stole the air from his lungs.
Sebastian stared ahead.
Completely motionless.
What if—
No.
His hand clenched.
No.
But now the question existed.
And once it existed, it couldn't be ignored.
If she was his daughter...
Three years.
Three years he hadn't known.
Three years he hadn't been there.
Three years of birthdays.
Three years of firsts.
Three years gone forever.
A strange feeling settled in his chest.
Shock.
Fear.
Hope.
All mixed together into something unbearable.
He didn't notice footsteps approaching.
Didn't notice someone enter the room.
Until a familiar voice spoke.
"Sebastian?"
His head slowly lifted.
Lillian stood nearby.
The moment their eyes met, she froze.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Because she'd never seen that expression before.
Not even during their breakup.
Sebastian looked shaken.
Genuinely shaken.
As though the ground beneath him had disappeared.
For several long seconds neither spoke.
Then finally, quietly, he asked:
"How old is your daughter?"
The question hit Lillian like a physical blow.
Her heart stopped.
And suddenly she understood exactly what he was starting to suspect.