33 The call came at 2:17 in the morning, jarring me from a dreamless sleep. Lucas's name flashed on my phone screen, sending an immediate jolt of adrenaline through my system. He never called this late-something hac to be wrong. 'Lucas?" I answered, voice rough with sleep. "What's happened?" 'It's little Lucas," he said, his voice tight with barely controlled panic. "He's burning up. I can't get his fever down." Our son had been staying overnight at the penthouse, part of the regular visitation schedule we'd established over the past two months. It was his third overnight visit without me, and I'd been trying not to worry, to trust Lucas's growing competence as a father. 'How high?" I asked, already out of bed and pulling on clothes. 102.5 last I checked, and that was after Tylenol and a lukewarm bath. He's flushed and fussy, keeps pulling at his right ear." Ear infection," I said immediately, recognizing the symptoms. "I'm on my way. Have you called the >ediatrician?" The service said Dr. Winters would call back, but that was twenty minutes ago." could hear the fear in Lucas's voice, the uncertainty that came with facing a child's illness for the first time. I'll be there in fifteen minutes," I promised. "Try another dose of Tylenol if it's been long enough, and keep hin hydrated if he'll drink." Please hurry," Lucas said, the vulnerability in his voice tugging at something deep inside me. "I don't know what else to do." drove to the penthouse in record time, breaking at least three traffic laws in the process. Lucas must have >een watching for me because the private elevator was waiting when I arrived, and he opened the door befor could even knock. The sight of him rocked me momentarily-hair disheveled, eyes red-rimmed with worry, t-shirt inside out as if he'd dressed in haste. In his arms, our son lay listlessly, cheeks flushed with fever, curls damp with sweat. Mama," little Lucas whimpered, reaching for me with obvious relief. took him from Lucas, pressing my lips to his forehead to gauge his temperature the way my mother had always done for me. He was burning up, his small body radiating heat. The thermometer's in the bathroom," Lucas said, leading the way. "I've been checking every twenty minutes." followed him to the nursery bathroom, noting the evidence of Lucas's attempts to manage the situation-th bottle of children's Tylenol, the damp towels from the lukewarm bath, the half-empty sippy cup of water on th counter. You did everything right," I assured him, recognizing the self-doubt in his expression. "Sometimes they just Jet sick." Lucas nodded, but the worry didn't leave his eyes. "I feel so helpless. He was fine when he went to bed, mayb a little quieter than usual, but nothing concerning. Then he woke up screaming an hour ago, burning up and bulling at his ear." balanced our son on the counter, taking the thermometer Lucas offered. "Ear infections can come on suddenly, especially in children his age. Their ear canals are still developing." I stroked little Lucas's cheek, ccupants. Yet now, like the rest of the penthouse, it contained small signs of consideration for my presence -a vase of fresh peonies, my favorite flowers. A stack of design magazines on the nightstand. A phone charger that matched my model. .ittle touches that suggested Lucas had been preparing for this possibility-for my return, however temporary -with characteristic thoroughness. As I sank onto the bed, exhaustion finally overtaking me, I found myself wondering if perhaps the walls I'd so carefully maintained since my return to Northbrook were no longer protecting me but isolating me-from connection, from possibility, from the chance at happiness I'd convinced myself was impossible. n the quiet pre-dawn hours, with our son sleeping safely down the hall and his father keeping vigilant watch, llowed myself to consider what might happen if I let those walls crumble. If I trusted not just in Lucas's competence as a father, but in his sincerity as a man who claimed to love me. If I believed that the connection ve'd forged tonight in that hospital room might extend beyond our shared concern for our child to encompass something deeper, something lasting. The thought followed me into dreams-not of the past this time, but of a possible future. A future where the hree of us faced life's challenges together, not as co-parents maintaining careful distance, but as a true amily, bound by more than circumstance or obligation. A future I'd stopped allowing myself to want, but had never truly stopped wanting.