Jane's POV The midday sunlight didn’t feel like the harsh, clinical glare of a hospital suite or the emerald warning glow of an underground bunker. It fell in wide, warm slanting beams across the polished white oak floor of our home, tasting of salt air, wild grass, and peace. Through the massive open glass doors of the terrace, the steady, rhythmic murmur of the Atlantic Ocean swept through the house. There were no magnetic deadbolts here. No manual override levers. The security grid was running, but it was silent, unlinked, and invisible. From my place at the long cedar dining table, I paused my pen over the morning medical foundation reports and simply watched the lawn. Out on the grass, a tiny, dark-haired toddler was sprinting toward the sand dunes, his sturdy legs pumping with an endless, frantic energy that made my chest tighten with a familiar, breathless joy. Leo Benjamin Williams. He was one year old today, his face carrying the sharp line of his father's jaw, but hi
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