Nadine’s POV
I wake up with a jolt, my heart pounding as I feel a hand tightly gripping mine. I try to move, but something, no, someone, holds me still. Slowly, I sit up, and there he is, Ethan, his head resting on the edge of the hospital bed, fast asleep.
My chest tightens at the sight. He didn’t go home last night. He stayed here with me.
I close my eyes, hoping to steady the storm inside me. How can I be so fortunate to have someone with such a pure heart by my side, yet feel nothing for him? I search my heart for any trace of love, but everything is blank.
I can’t even begin to count how much he has shown me love, whether it’s been easy or difficult, all in such a short time.
I know he cares, he’s shown it in countless ways, ways that should matter. But no matter how hard I try, my heart refuses to respond.
My hand moves toward his hair, hesitating for a moment before I let my fingers brush against the silky strands.
The softness surprises me, each strand smooth and well-kept. He spends time and money on products that enhance it.
Ethan stirs in his sleep, with a groan as he slowly lifts his head.
His body protests with a series of cracks, as a result of the uncomfortable night he spent in that position.
He blinks, his eyes groggy but locking onto mine almost immediately.
I pull my hand back, feeling self-conscious, as if he might read all the confusion and guilt through me with that one simple touch.
But Ethan doesn’t seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t say anything, his focus entirely on me.
His blue eyes meet mine, and he breaks into a broad smile. “Morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough from sleep, a half-smile forming on his lips despite the discomfort he must be feeling.
“Oh, Nadine, it’s good to see you’re okay,” he says, slowly lifting his head. But then, he groans. “Fuck…”
“Are you alright?” I ask, concerned. I worry that his body must be aching from the position he slept in.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine,” he reassures me, waving it off like it means nothing. “Stay right there. Let me get the doctor and see if you’re fit to go home today.”
“I should be able to; I feel fine,” I say, attempting to get off the bed, a bit wobbly as I try to stand. I just need to pee.
I went to the bathroom, did my business, and returned to the bed.
Ethan walks back into the room with a nurse in tow. She checks my vitals. After a few moments, she looks up with a smile.
“Everything looks good. You’re clear to go home,” she says. “But I need you to follow these strict instructions: plenty of rest, and make sure to come in for a follow-up check-up.”
I nod, grateful that I can finally leave the hospital. The nurse hands Ethan a sheet of paper with the instructions, and I can already see him committing every detail to memory.
I sigh in relief as Ethan takes my hand, guiding me out of the hospital. As we make our way to the car.
When we arrive at the house, I walk in with Ethan beside me. The moment we step inside, I notice two elderly people standing in the living room.
Their eyes were locked on me, and the intensity of their stare made me uncomfortable. This isn’t the typical curiosity of meeting someone for the first time; their mouths are slightly agape as if they’re seeing something, or someone, unexpected.
I shift uncomfortably on my feet, unsure of how to react. My gaze drifts to the elderly woman.
She’s beautiful, an older version of Sydney-this must be her mother. The elderly man has Sydney’s eyes and the same shape of nose, making it clear they’re family.
“Oh, Mr. Blake, good morning, sir. Good to see you’re back,” Ethan greets the elderly man.
Mr. Blake nods in acknowledgment. “How are you, Ethan?” he asks, but his eyes remain fixed on me the entire time, making it uncomfortable.
Ethan glances between me and Mr. Blake, puzzled by the man’s intense stare. It’s as if he’s trying to piece together why Mr. Blake is looking at me in such an awkward way, but he can’t place it.
The older lady steps forward and gently takes my hand. “What’s your name, young lady?” she asks, her voice soft and kind. I glance between Ethan and the woman, feeling a bit nervous.
“Nadine,” I reply. “My name is Nadine.”
Before I can say anything more, the sound of footsteps on the stairs catches our attention.
We all look up to see who it is. Sydney’s voice rings out, filled with excitement.
“Daddy!” she screams, rushing down the stairs. “Oh my goodness, I’ve missed you so much, my baby girl!”
Mr. Blake’s face lights up as he embraces his daughter. “Oh, Dad, stop it, I’m a grown woman now,” she says, laughing as she hugs him tightly. I smile at their interaction.
As I watch them, I wish I had that kind of relationship with my father, but I quickly push the thought aside, refusing to let my emotions get the best of me.
“I’ll take my leave now. It was nice seeing you again, Mr. and Mrs. Blake,” Ethan said, giving them a polite nod. He glanced at me one last time, with a small smile.
My legs started to ache from standing too long, but I didn’t want to be rude by excusing myself, especially with everyone still there.
“Sit down, Nadine,” Sydney’s mother said kindly, gesturing to the couch. I gratefully took a seat, relieved to be off my feet.
“Oh, you’ve met Nadine,” Sydney said, glancing at her mother. They exchanged a knowing look, their silent communication making me feel uneasy.
“You know,” Sydney’s mother finally breaks the silence, “you remind me of someone I know.”
I look at her sharply, anxiety building. I wonder if she has met my mother or Nathalie before.
I search her face for any hint of recognition. “Really?” I manage to say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Who do I remind you of?”
Sydney’s mother smiles, “It’s not just the way you look,” she says, her gaze softening. “It’s the way you carry yourself. There’s something about you that feels… familiar.”
She pauses, then adds, “You have a striking resemblance to someone named Isabelle, and we’ve been looking for her for quite some time now.”
“Isabelle?” I repeat, shaking my head slightly, unsure of how to process this information. The name doesn’t ring any bells, and I’m at a loss for how to react.
Noticing my unease, Sydney’s mother quickly changes her tone. “You know what, let’s not worry about that right now. You need rest, especially since you’re expecting,” she says kindly, gesturing toward my protruding stomach.
“Thank you, ma’am,” I reply, with a small, polite smile. I stand up and make my way to my room, my mind buzzing with thoughts about Isabelle.
Who is she, and why does she look so much like me? I pace back and forth, trying to piece the dots together, my mind racing with possibilities.
Then it suddenly clicks. Could Isabelle be the third child-my sibling-who was taken at birth from my mother?
I remember the other day, outside the restaurant, seeing someone who looked just like me.
The questions swirl in my mind, I know the only person who might have the answers.
With that thought in mind, I finally let myself relax, resting my head on the pillow and drifting off into a restless sleep.