Chapter 4

Autumn Lancaster POV

That afternoon, I took Maya grocery shopping.

Pushing the cart through the aisles, I suddenly realized it had been years since I'd shopped for myself.

At the Pierce house, the housekeepers did these things.

All I had to do was attend galas I didn't want to go to and deal with people I didn't know.

Maya sat in the cart, holding a bag of chips. "Mommy, can we buy this?"

"Yes."

"Mommy, can we buy that?"

"Yes."

She blinked, hardly believing it.

At the Pierce house, the high-priced parenting expert Ethan hired had rules: Maya could only have sweets once a day, no snacks, limited tablet time, couldn't do this, couldn't do that.

Ethan never said anything. Whatever the expert said, he followed.

"Mommy, will the parenting expert be angry?"

I pushed the cart forward. "Maya, from now on, whatever you want to eat or play with, just tell Mommy."

"Really?"

"Really."

She cheered, almost jumping out of the cart.

At checkout, my phone rang again.

This time it was a message, from Sylvia.

She sent a photo.

In it, Ethan sat in a hospital corridor, hands covering his face, shoulders slightly trembling.

Beside him was Sylvia's hand, gently resting on his shoulder.

"He's really hurting."

"For you, and for Noah. Autumn, don't blame him. If you want to blame someone, blame me."

"If you have any conscience at all, come back and talk to him properly. Maya is a Pierce child. You can't take her away."

I stared at the photo for a long time.

Then I took a screenshot and saved it.

After checking out, I pushed Maya out of the supermarket.

"Mommy, aren't we going home?"

"We are going home." I said. "To our home."

Passing a law office, I stopped.

A business card was posted on the glass door: Adrian Cooper, Partner Attorney.

Maya tugged my hand. "Mommy?"

"It's nothing." I pushed her forward. "Mommy's just thinking about something."

That evening, after putting Maya to bed, I sat alone on the balcony.

The old apartment's balcony was tiny, barely fitting one chair.

I sat there, watching the lights in the apartment complexes across the way, listening to the sounds from downstairs, feeling strangely calm.

For the first time in eight years, I felt this calm.

At 2 a.m., Maya woke up again.

I held her, pacing in the small room, gently patting her back.

"Mommy, I'm scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Scared Daddy will come find me."

My heart clenched.

"Why would Daddy come find you?"

She buried herself in my embrace, not speaking.

I gently stroked her hair.

Two weeks ago, when Ethan took Maya for a checkup, her mood had been off when they returned.

I asked what was wrong. She said the blood draw hurt a little.

Looking back now, that was probably the first time.

Then came the second, the third.

Ethan said the company arranged annual checkups for employees' families, and Maya's was just routine.

I didn't think much of it.

Who would think in that direction?

Who would imagine a father would scheme against his own daughter?

But he wasn't an ordinary father.

He was a father who kept saying Noah would have everything too.

That child had leukemia and urgently needed a bone marrow transplant.

The odds of a successful match were extremely low, yet Maya matched.

There are no such coincidences in this world.

I held Maya until dawn.