Chapter 49: A Mother’s Tears

Kristine was brought back to the Foster mansion on a Sunday.

For the first time in months, the house felt livelier again.

The staff walked lighter. Albert smiled more often.

Even the twins seemed unusually cheerful, as if they somehow understood that their mother had finally come home.

During the next two days, Morgan canceled all unnecessary appointments and worked from home.

His office was temporarily moved to the study adjacent to their bedroom so he could stay close to Kristine.

Whenever she needed water, medicine, or simply help sitting up, he was there before anyone else. Sometimes it felt as though he was afraid to let her out of his sight.

Isobel also remained at the mansion.

While Morgan attended virtual meetings and reviewed contracts, she helped organize his schedule, screen calls, and sort through the mountain of emails that had accumulated during his absence from the office.

The arrangement was seamless. But for Kristine, there was something far more important occupying her thoughts.

The babies and Isobel.

The first time she learned that Isobel had been breastfeeding Kirsten and Kristoffer all these months, a sharp ache pierced her heart.

She did not want to admit it, but she was jealous. And she hated Isobel.

She had carried them for almost eight months. She dreamed of holding them, of feeding them. Yet another woman had shared moments that should have belonged to her.

The realization hurt more than she wanted to admit. For several hours, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Every time she looked at the twins, she imagined the milestones she had missed.

Their first smiles.

Their first coos.

The first time they flipped over.

The countless feedings in the middle of the night.

The comfort they sought when they were hungry.

All of it. She missed them. Lost in the darkness of her coma.

Yet as she watched Isobel took care of the babies, the jealousy slowly gave way to something else.

Gratitude.

Because the truth was simple. Without Isobel, her children might not have survived.

The thought humbled her.

That morning, Isobel carried Kirsten into the room and carefully placed the baby into Kristine’s arms.

Kat immediately snuggled against her chest. The tiny gesture almost brought fresh tears to Kristine’s eyes.

"Thank you."

Her voice was still weak from months of disuse. But the sincerity in it was unmistakable.

Isobel looked up.

"For what?"

"For taking care of my babies. For loving them when I couldn’t."

The room fell silent. Kristine swallowed against the tightness in her throat.

For a brief second, surprise flashed across Isobel’s face. Then she smiled softly.

"It was never a burden."

She glanced at the baby in Kristine’s arms.

"I am happy to do it."

Their eyes met.

For a moment, neither woman looked away.

Kristine studied her carefully. She was searching and measuring. Perhaps, she was trying to understand the woman who had become such an important part of her children’s lives.

Her gaze sharpened slightly. But Isobel didn’t flinch. She didn’t look guilty or nervous.

She simply met Kristine’s eyes calmly.

Because she had nothing to hide. Her conscience was clear.

"Where is your child?" Kristine asked softly.

Her fingers paused in the baby’s hair.

"And your husband?"

A shadow crossed Isobel’s face. She lowered her gaze and forced a small smile.

It was the kind of smile people wore when they were trying to pretend something didn’t hurt.

"He took her."

The words were spoken so quietly that Kristine almost missed them.

"The father took my son."

The room became silent.

Kristine stared at her.

"Then why aren’t you with him?"

A flicker of pain flashed across Isobel’s eyes. Gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

"Because legally..." She swallowed. "I signed a contract."

"My son was never meant to be mine."

Kristine’s eyes widened.

The words struck her like a physical blow.

Isobel let out a soft laugh devoid of humor. Her fingers curled tightly in her lap.

"From the moment she was conceived, he belonged to him."

Kristine gasped. One hand flew to her mouth.

For several seconds, she couldn’t speak.

She looked at Isobel differently now.

Not as the capable woman who had cared for her children.

Not as the woman who always seemed calm and composed.

But as a mother.

A mother who had carried a child for months.

And then lost him.

Suddenly, the gratitude Kristine felt toward Isobel deepened into something else.

Compassion.

Because she knew exactly how devastating it had been to lose even a few months with her babies.

She couldn’t imagine losing an entire lifetime.

"I’m sorry," she whispered.

The words felt painfully inadequate. Isobel looked away toward the window.

For a brief moment, her carefully controlled expression cracked.

Just enough for Kristine to glimpse the grief she carried every single day.

Then the mask returned.

And she smiled.

"It’s okay."

But both women knew it wasn’t.

...

Later that morning, during the twins’ feeding schedule, Isobel brought over a bottle filled with freshly expressed breast milk.

The bottle had been specially designed to mimic natural breastfeeding.

Even the teat looked remarkably realistic.

Morgan had commissioned it on the first month the babies were born. After countless revisions, the twin finally fed on a bottle.

Kristine carefully settled Kat in her arms. Her movements were slow and awkward as her body was still weak and recovering.

The moment the bottle touched Kat’s lips, the baby latched eagerly.

Tiny fingers curled around Kristine’s dress.

A sob escaped Kristine’s throat. Then tears streamed silently down her cheeks.

She lowered her head and stared at her daughter.

Watching every tiny swallow. Every little movement. Every precious second.

She had imagined this moment so many times while trapped in the darkness.

Now it was finally real.

Isobel immediately looked away, suddenly feeling like an intruder witnessing something sacred.

Fortunately, Morgan chose that exact moment to enter.

The instant he saw Kristine crying, concern filled his face.

Without hesitation, Isobel quietly slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her, giving the family the privacy they deserved.

Inside, Morgan sat beside the bed,

"Honey."

His voice was gentle and careful, as though speaking too loudly might break the fragile moment.

He brushed away her tears with his thumb.

"Why are you crying?" 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

A smile trembled on Kristine’s lips.

"The doctor specifically said no emotional stress."

A soft laugh escaped her. The sound was still weak but beautiful.

"I’m not stressed."

Fresh tears gathered in her eyes. She looked down at Kat, who was happily drinking in her arms.

For a moment, she couldn’t find the words. How could she explain something she had never experienced before?

Finally, she whispered,

"I’m just happy."

Morgan’s expression softened.

"So happy that you’re crying?"

Kristine nodded.

Her gaze never leaving her daughter.

"I didn’t know..." Her voice broke. "I didn’t know feeding my baby would feel like this."

A tear slid down her cheek.

"It feels like a missing piece of my heart finally found its way back to me."

For several seconds, Morgan said nothing.

Then he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

And silently thanked fate for giving his wife a second chance.