LENA
For a little while, everything felt perfect. Naming her Isabella had stitched something whole in my heart. Roman and I spent hours repeating it, whispering it to her, letting the sound of her name settle into the walls of this hospital room. Isabella Wolfe. Our little girl. Our light.
But perfect never lasted long for us.
The morning after, I woke to the sound of my phone buzzing on the bedside table. Roman had been up most of the night rocking Isabella, so I tried not to disturb him as I reached for it. My fingers still felt swollen and clumsy from the birth, but I managed to swipe the screen open.
And then my blood ran cold.
The notifications wouldn’t stop. Pings from apps I hadn’t touched in weeks, mentions piling up like a tidal wave. I tapped one without thinking, and the first headline screamed back at me:
“Roman Wolfe’s Mistress Finally Names Her Baby: Isabella Wolfe.”
My thro
LENAI could feel the walls closing in.The reporters’ voices thundered from the other side of the hospital door, their questions sharp, prying, merciless. My heart pounded as I clutched Isabella closer, rocking her gently against me even though she’d already fallen back asleep. Each bang on the door rattled through me like a gunshot.“Roman Wolfe, do you deny the affair?”“Lena, are you ashamed of what you did to your mother?”“Isabella Wolfe—was this child planned or an accident?”I flinched at that last one, bile rising in my throat. They spoke her name like it was gossip, not the fragile, perfect truth of our daughter.Roman’s jaw had turned to granite, his entire body tense as he stood between me and the door. His fists clenched at his sides, the kind of controlled fury that scared me more than if he had screamed.He turned his head slightly, his eyes locking on mine.
LENAFor a little while, everything felt perfect. Naming her Isabella had stitched something whole in my heart. Roman and I spent hours repeating it, whispering it to her, letting the sound of her name settle into the walls of this hospital room. Isabella Wolfe. Our little girl. Our light.But perfect never lasted long for us.The morning after, I woke to the sound of my phone buzzing on the bedside table. Roman had been up most of the night rocking Isabella, so I tried not to disturb him as I reached for it. My fingers still felt swollen and clumsy from the birth, but I managed to swipe the screen open.And then my blood ran cold.The notifications wouldn’t stop. Pings from apps I hadn’t touched in weeks, mentions piling up like a tidal wave. I tapped one without thinking, and the first headline screamed back at me:“Roman Wolfe’s Mistress Finally Names Her Baby: Isabella Wolfe.”My thro
LENAThe world outside felt like a storm, but in here, inside this quiet hospital room, it was just the three of us. Roman sat close, his arm draped protectively around me as I cradled our daughter. She was so impossibly small, her fingers curling against the blanket, her lips parting in the faintest sighs.Every time I looked at her, it felt like my heart cracked wider. She wasn’t even a week old, and already I couldn’t imagine a universe where she didn’t exist.The nurses kept reminding me: “She needs a name.” They wanted to update her paperwork, enter her properly into the system. But every time I thought about it, I froze. Naming her felt monumental, like putting a stamp on her soul.Tonight, though, with Roman beside me and the hum of machines quieter than usual, it finally felt like the moment.“She can’t be ‘Baby Girl’ forever,” Roman murmured, brushing his thumb lightly against her
LENAHospitals have a way of making time feel strange. Days blurred into nights, and nights into days, with the steady rhythm of beeping monitors and the constant shuffle of nurses coming in and out. But somewhere between the exhaustion and the fear, there were moments that felt achingly precious. Like watching our daughter’s tiny chest rise and fall in the incubator. Like feeling Roman’s hand threaded through mine while he whispered promises in the quiet hours.On the fourth evening after she was born, Roman asked the nurse for some privacy. She gave him a look—half suspicion, half indulgence—but eventually left, closing the curtain around my bed.I was sitting upright, cradling our baby against my chest, her fragile warmth grounding me even as fatigue weighed on my bones. Roman moved around the room with restless energy, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt, pacing once before stopping in front of me.“There’s somethin
LENAThe next day felt softer, lighter somehow. Maybe it was the way sunlight spilled through the hospital blinds, or maybe it was simply because I knew she was okay—our baby girl, still tiny and fragile in the NICU, but fighting.Roman had spent the entire night in that stiff hospital chair, never once leaving my side. When I stirred in the morning, he was awake, hair mussed, shirt wrinkled, but eyes sharp and fixed on me like I was the only thing in the room that mattered.“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly, brushing his thumb over my knuckles.“Tired. But… lighter,” I admitted. “Because of her.”His lips curved faintly. “Our little warrior.”That afternoon, the nurses finally let me walk down to the NICU again. Roman helped me into the wheelchair, though I argued I could walk. His hand on my shoulder silenced me before the words could leave my lips.“You almost collapsed last night, Lena. Don’t fight me on this.”So I l
LENAThe moment I saw her standing in the doorway, my whole body went cold.Vivian.Her frame filled the space like a shadow, her posture stiff, her face unreadable. For a second, I wondered if I was hallucinating from exhaustion. But then her eyes found mine—sharp, hard, cutting straight through me—and I knew it was real.My hands instinctively moved to my stomach, even though our daughter was no longer inside me. She was down the hall, fragile, fighting in the NICU. And now here was my mother—Roman’s fiancée—standing just feet away.Roman reacted instantly. He moved to the edge of my bed, placing himself slightly in front of me, as though his body could shield me from her gaze. His voice dropped low, hard.“You don’t belong here.”Vivian’s lips curved, not quite a smile. “That’s an interesting thing to say, Roman. Considering my name is still on the paperwork as your fiancée.” Her eyes flicked to me, cold and merciless. “And conside