Chapter 2 - The Yellow Room
An hour later, the sedan pulled into the gravel driveway of a modest, weather-beaten duplex on the working-class south side of Chicago. The neighborhood was quiet, shrouded in mist and the low hum of distant factories.
Grace unlocked the front door, her hands shaking so badly she dropped the keys twice before catching them.
“Inside, quickly,” she murmured.
Adrian followed her into the cramped, meticulously clean hallway. The air smelled of vanilla and baby powder—a scent that instantly fractured whatever emotional armor Adrian had left.
Grace led him down the narrow corridor to a small room at the back of the house. The door was painted a soft, sunlit yellow.
She pushed it open.
In the center of the room sat a wooden crib, draped with a handmade quilt. Inside, wrapped in a pink knit blanket, a baby girl was sleeping peacefully, her tiny chest rising and falling in rhythmic, innocent breaths.
Adrian froze on the threshold.
His breath hitched in his throat. He felt as though gravity had suddenly reversed, pulling him away from the earth. He crossed the floor in two silent strides and dropped to his knees beside the crib.
With trembling fingers, he reached out and brushed a single curl of dark hair from the baby’s forehead.
She stirred, letting out a soft sigh, and instinctively curled her tiny fist against her chin—the exact same gesture Evelyn made when she was deep in sleep.
“Lily,” Adrian whispered, his voice cracking violently.
Tears he had held back for eight months—tears he had denied himself because grief was a luxury for the living—finally broke free, hot and silent down his cheeks. He leaned over the railing, carefully lifting his daughter into his arms.
She smelled of milk and sunshine. She was warm, solid, and impossibly alive.
“I’ve got you,” he choked out, pressing his face against her soft blanket. “I’m right here, baby girl. Daddy’s here.”
Emma wandered into the room, hugging her rabbit, and looked up at him with solemn, wide eyes.
“Is she going home now?” the little girl asked softly.
May you like
Adrian looked down at Emma, his vision blurred with tears. He reached out with his free hand, gently patting the child’s dark curls.
“Yes, Emma,” Adrian said, his voice hardening with a terrible, absolute resolve. “We’re all going home. But first, we have some unfinished business to attend to.”
