Chapter 48: The Awakening 2

Morgan immediately gripped her hand. There was no response.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

"Honey?"

Nothing.

Panic surged through him.

"Kristine, open your eyes, please!"

His voice cracked.

"Please, don’t do this to me."

Still nothing.

The hope that had only moments ago filled his chest collided violently with terror.

"Morgan."

Isobel’s calm voice cut through the chaos.

He looked up.

"I’ve taken care of coma patients before at the orphanage," she said softly. "It’s common for them to fall asleep again after waking up."

Morgan wanted to believe her. He truly did.

But fear had already taken root. What if she didn’t wake up again?

What if that brief moment had been all he was going to get?

What if fate decided to be cruel one more time?

The questions tortured him until the doctor finally arrived.

The doctor quickly examined Kristine before letting out a relieved breath.

"I have to admit, this is remarkable."

He glanced at the twins, who were now yawning and growing fussy.

"To think that she regained consciousness so soon after being discharged. You should have done this sooner, Mr. Foster."

Morgan stepped forward immediately.

"Doctor, she woke up. Why did she lose consciousness again?"

The doctor smiled reassuringly.

"She’s not in a coma again, Mr. Foster."

Morgan froze.

The doctor continued.

"She’s sleeping."

The simple words drained some of the tension from the room.

"Her brain and body are still recovering. Waking up after such a long period of unconsciousness requires an enormous amount of energy."

"So she’ll wake up again?"

Morgan asked quietly.

The doctor nodded.

"Yes."

A smile appeared on his face.

"And if her recovery continues like this, she’ll stay awake a little longer each time."

For the first time since Kristine’s eyes had closed, Morgan finally allowed himself to breathe.

...

That evening, Morgan quietly pushed open the nursery door.

Warm amber light spilled from the night lamp in the corner, bathing the room in a soft glow. ℴℴ𝘮

The sight that greeted him made him pause.

Isobel had fallen asleep in the rocking chair.

Her head rested against the cushion, her dark hair slightly disheveled from exhaustion. One arm was wrapped protectively around Kirsten, who was sleeping soundly against her chest.

Kat’s tiny fist was curled around a lock of Isobel’s hair.

Neither seemed willing to let go of the other.

The rocking chair moved gently back and forth, creaking softly in the silence.

For a long moment, Morgan simply stood there.

Watching and thinking.

A complicated emotion stirred within him.

When Isobel first appeared in their lives, he had been suspicious.

No. Suspicious was too mild a word. He had distrusted her completely.

The timing of her appearance had been too convenient. The circumstances too strange.

He had assumed she wanted something.

Money. Status. Influence.

Everyone wanted something from him eventually. Years of dealing with opportunists had taught him that.

People rarely approached Morgan Foster without an agenda.

So he had watched her carefully. Searching for cracks in the mask.

But the mask never slipped.

Instead, day after day, he witnessed the same thing.

Her patience, her kindness and devotion when dealing with his babies.

The babies cried at midnight? She was there.

One of them developed a fever? She stayed awake all night.

The twins were fussy and impossible to calm? She carried them until her arms trembled from exhaustion.

She cared for them with a tenderness that couldn’t be faked, acted like she was their mother.

At first, Morgan had convinced himself she was simply an excellent actress. The thought had lingered in the back of his mind for the first two months.

But even that explanation was becoming harder and harder to believe.

Because Isobel had been given countless opportunities. Opportunities that many women would have killed for.

She lived under the same roof as him. Saw him every day.

Had unrestricted access to his children. To his home.

Yet she never once attempted to take advantage of it.

She never tried to draw closer or flirted.

Never orchestrated situations to be alone with him. In fact, she seemed to do the opposite.

Morgan’s gaze darkened slightly.

There had been a few occasions when he had deliberately tested her. Moments when the other nannies had left the nursery and he had lingered longer than necessary.

Observing her and waiting for that accidental slip that would threw her into his arms.

Seeing if she would reveal her true intentions.

But Isobel never did. She always maintained a respectful distance.

The mask never slipped because she wore none.

She always spoke to him politely. Always kept their interactions focused on the children.

When she looked at him, there was none of the greed he had seen countless times before.

No calculation. No ambition. No desperate desire to become Mrs. Foster.

There was something in her gaze... but it was just simple respect.

And occasionally...pity.

If anything, it reminded him of the way someone might care for a wounded soul.

The realization made Morgan’s lips tighten. Most women saw his wealth, his power and his influence.

But Isobel seemed to see something else entirely.

She looked up at him with the admiration that he used to see in his younger sister’s eyes.

Perhaps it was because heart still belonged elsewhere, to Kristoff.

His gaze returned to the sleeping woman in the rocking chair. Even in her sleep, one hand rested protectively on Kat’s back.

As though her body had been trained to put the child’s comfort before her own.

The sight stirred something unfamiliar inside him.

Morgan’s thoughts drifted back to the weeks after the twins were born. Word had somehow spread about the babies’ condition.

They rejected formula. They couldn’t tolerate cow’s milk. Even goat’s milk triggered severe allergic reactions. The only thing their fragile bodies could accept was a human breast milk.

At the time, two women had approached him at the hospital.

Both had recently given birth. Both had generously offered to nurse his children.

To everyone else, it might have seemed like an act of kindness.

Morgan had seen something else. He remembered the way their eyes lingered on him.

The carefully calculated smiles. The subtle glances exchanged between them. The eagerness hidden beneath their concern.

They weren’t looking at two vulnerable infants fighting for survival.

They were looking at Morgan Foster. A billionaire. A man whose wife was in a coma.

A man with influence that could change lives overnight.

The babies had merely been an excuse.

A doorway. A chance.

Morgan had spent enough years around people to recognize ambition when he saw it.

Those women were the mistresses of powerful CEOs he knew personally/

Of course, he rejected them cruelly because Isobel was enough.

His gaze shifted back to the sleeping woman in the rocking chair.

He just hope that she and Kristine would become friends rather than enemies.