Twin beams of light bisected the darkness as a car passed outside. There was little traffic at this hour. The house was quiet, with only the occasional creaking of settling wood and the rustling of bedsheets disturbing the silence. It was almost 2 a.m., but Gabe couldn’t get to sleep, his conversation with Quinn replaying in his mind. She’d been angry with him, but relented before she fell asleep, her head resting on his shoulder and her arm about his waist as he held her close. She’d moved away since, lying on her back, her hands folded across her stomach like a medieval effigy.
Gabe studied Quinn’s face in the darkness, smiling at the sweep of dark lashes across her pale skin and the lift of her mouth as if she were about to smile. She’d been wound up before speaking with Sylvia, but their talk had gone well, and perhaps even served as a step forward in their fragile relationship. Quinn believed Sylvia’s version of events, but Gabe wasn’t convinced. He had no wish to be one of those people who blamed the victim for the tragedy that befell them, but Sylvia Wyatt puzzled him. True, she had been very young when she got pregnant with Quinn, but even a girl of seventeen had to have some notion of what she was getting herself into.
Gabe folded his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling, his mind still on Sylvia. Sylvia was either a woman prone to catastrophically bad judgment or a liar who was manipulating Quinn’s emotions to get into her good graces. She’d gotten involved with a married man, with whom she carried on for months, and then went to a party at a house of an older boy she barely knew. She drank too much and refused to leave when the other girls decided it was time to go, remaining behind with three college-age lads who’d been drinking heavily and likely made their intentions clear. Surely, she understood the possible consequences of both situations. Could she really have been that sheltered and naïve? Yes, she could have been. Many girls, and women, found themselves in situations beyond their control and realized the danger when it was already too late, but Gabe didn’t think that happened with Sylvia, not given what she chose to do after.
Sylvia didn’t tell anyone about the assault, not even after she found out that she was pregnant. She didn’t see a doctor or tell her father that she was expecting a baby. Instead, she concealed her pregnancy till the end of the school term, then left home, found a place to live and a summer job, and prepared for the birth of her baby. She found an advert for a midwife in the newspaper and called her once she was already in labor, avoiding going to the hospital and having her condition recorded in the NHS database. Sylvia had formulated a plan of action, carried it out, and then left her newborn in a church, returning home to her father as if nothing had happened. These were not the actions of a sheltered girl. These were the actions of a survivor, who was no stranger to strategic thinking.
Perhaps Robert Chatham was telling the truth when he claimed that Sylvia had been a willing participant that night, and perhaps she’d been the one to seduce Steven Kane, and not the other way around. Getting pregnant had not been part of the plan, so she got rid of her baby as soon as she could, not even bothering to go through the normal adoption channels and turning Quinn over to social services. She’d thrown Quinn away like a bag of rubbish. Leaving her baby in a place of safety rather than just dumping her somewhere where she might not have been found right away had been Sylvia’s only act of maternal love.
Gabe stole a peek at Quinn, who no longer looked peaceful. Her eyelids were fluttering, and her breathing quickened, as if she were having a bad dream. Gabe reached out and took her hand, holding it until she began to calm down. He wished that he could turn back the clock and prevent Quinn from getting assaulted during the break-in that led to Sylvia finding her. Quinn had dreamed of finding her biological parents, like most adopted children, but meeting Sylvia and learning of her true parentage had done more harm than good. Quinn was hell-bent on finding Steven Kane and prepared to turn her focus to Seth Besson if Kane proved he was not a match. She was obsessed with finding her father, a quest that could bring her nothing but bitter disappointment.
Gabe shot to his feet as a wail pierced the silence of the flat, startling him out of his reverie.
“Mummy! I want my mummy!” Emma screamed.
Gabe hurried into the other room and gathered Emma in a warm embrace. “I’m here, darling. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Emma pushed him away, her eyes huge in her face. “I don’t want you, Gabe. I want my Mum. I miss Mum,” Emma screamed. “I want to go home.”
Quinn walked into the room and sat down next to Emma and Gabe. “Would you like a story?” she asked.
“No!” Emma cried, but she moved closer to Quinn, leaning into her, desperate for comfort.
Quinn wrapped Emma in her arms and rocked her gently, humming the waltz from Cinderella. “Would you like to come to our bed?” Quinn asked, giving Gabe a stern look when he shook his head.
“All right,” Emma mumbled. “But I still want my Mum.”
“I know, Emma. I know. She would be here if she could, but she’s entrusted you to us, so please, give us a chance. Can you do that?”
“I suppose,” Emma said as she trailed after Quinn, climbing into bed and pressing her back to Quinn’s belly. Emma took Gabe’s hand as she closed her eyes, her breath still shaky from crying.
“I’ll never leave you, Emma,” Gabe said as he kissed the top of her head. “I’ll always be your dad.”
“I don’t want a dad. I want my Mum back, and my Gran,” Emma mumbled and turned her face away from Gabe.
After a time, she quieted down, but her breathing was still shaky as she continued to sniffle. Quinn spoke to Emma quietly, telling her the story of Goldilocks and The Three Bears until Emma finally drifted off to sleep, still clutching Gabe’s hand despite rejecting him earlier. Quinn gently laid her hand over Gabe’s and Emma’s, her gaze meeting Gabe’s in the darkness. He gave her a pained smile, and she smiled back, wishing that she could say something to make him feel less dejected. Gabe was hurt by Emma’s outburst, but who could blame a child for missing her mother?
“How do you cure a four-year-old of a broken heart?” Gabe asked, his voice barely audible.
“With love,” Quinn replied. “Endless, unconditional love that never wavers.”
“Well, I’ve got plenty of that. For you both,” Gabe replied.
Quinn gave Gabe’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’re a good man, Papa Bear,” Quinn said, making Gabe smile.