Chapter 4
Within the hour, I was dressed, discharged, and sitting in the back of Dominic's black SUV with court documents in my lap and fury in my chest.
Harper sat beside me, refreshing her phone obsessively. Dominic drove in silence, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
"The police will meet us there," he said. "I have an emergency custody order signed by Judge Whitmore. Ryan has no legal basis to keep the child from you."
I stared out the window. It was dark — nearly eleven p.m. My body screamed with every bump in the road, my incision burning beneath the surgical bandage. But my arms ached worse than anything. Empty arms were a particular kind of agony.
"Lily." Dominic's eyes found mine in the rearview mirror. "When we get there, let me handle Ryan. You go straight to your son."
I nodded.
When we pulled onto Sienna's street, I recognized the house immediately. It was the same craftsman bungalow Ryan had once pointed out during a Sunday drive, saying, *"That's Sienna's dream house. She'll own one someday."*
He'd bought it for her. I was certain of it now.
The police cruiser was already parked outside. Two officers stood on the sidewalk, looking bored.
Dominic handed them the custody order. They read it, nodded, and approached the front door.
The porch light flicked on. Sienna opened the door in silk pajamas — the ones from the set Ryan had given me last Christmas that had "gone missing."
She saw me, and her expression froze.
"What's going on?" She clutched the doorframe. "Ryan? *Ryan!*"
Ryan appeared behind her, hair mussed, shirt untucked. He took one look at the police officers and then found me standing behind them.
His face drained of color.
"Lily, what the hell—"
"Mr. Ashford." Dominic stepped forward with the court order. "An emergency custody motion has been granted in favor of your wife. You will surrender the child immediately."
Ryan snatched the paper. As he read it, his hands began to shake. "This is — you can't just — I'm the father!"
"A father who removed a newborn from the hospital without the mother's consent, concealed the child's location, and attempted to coerce the mother into signing away her parental rights." Dominic's voice was ice. "Would you like me to continue, or would you prefer to do that in front of a judge?"
Sienna grabbed Ryan's arm, her eyes wild. "Ryan, do something. They can't take him—"
"He's not yours to keep," I said.
My voice was steady. I didn't know where the strength came from — maybe from the five days of empty arms, maybe from the burning rage that had been building since I saw that photo.
I walked past them both and into the house.
The nursery was upstairs. I found it by following the soft glow of a nightlight and the quiet sounds of a sleeping infant.
My son was in a white crib, dressed in blue pajamas I hadn't bought, surrounded by stuffed animals I hadn't chosen. A mobile turned slowly above him, casting stars on the ceiling.
But it was his face — *his face* — that broke me.
He had my nose. My chin. He was so small. So impossibly small.
I lifted him gently, pressing him against my chest, and the tears came silently.
Behind me, I could hear Ryan arguing with the police, Sienna's rising hysteria, Dominic's calm and devastating responses.
But in that moment, none of it mattered.
My son was in my arms, and I was never letting go again.
Harper sat beside me, refreshing her phone obsessively. Dominic drove in silence, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
"The police will meet us there," he said. "I have an emergency custody order signed by Judge Whitmore. Ryan has no legal basis to keep the child from you."
I stared out the window. It was dark — nearly eleven p.m. My body screamed with every bump in the road, my incision burning beneath the surgical bandage. But my arms ached worse than anything. Empty arms were a particular kind of agony.
"Lily." Dominic's eyes found mine in the rearview mirror. "When we get there, let me handle Ryan. You go straight to your son."
I nodded.
When we pulled onto Sienna's street, I recognized the house immediately. It was the same craftsman bungalow Ryan had once pointed out during a Sunday drive, saying, *"That's Sienna's dream house. She'll own one someday."*
He'd bought it for her. I was certain of it now.
The police cruiser was already parked outside. Two officers stood on the sidewalk, looking bored.
Dominic handed them the custody order. They read it, nodded, and approached the front door.
The porch light flicked on. Sienna opened the door in silk pajamas — the ones from the set Ryan had given me last Christmas that had "gone missing."
She saw me, and her expression froze.
"What's going on?" She clutched the doorframe. "Ryan? *Ryan!*"
Ryan appeared behind her, hair mussed, shirt untucked. He took one look at the police officers and then found me standing behind them.
His face drained of color.
"Lily, what the hell—"
"Mr. Ashford." Dominic stepped forward with the court order. "An emergency custody motion has been granted in favor of your wife. You will surrender the child immediately."
Ryan snatched the paper. As he read it, his hands began to shake. "This is — you can't just — I'm the father!"
"A father who removed a newborn from the hospital without the mother's consent, concealed the child's location, and attempted to coerce the mother into signing away her parental rights." Dominic's voice was ice. "Would you like me to continue, or would you prefer to do that in front of a judge?"
Sienna grabbed Ryan's arm, her eyes wild. "Ryan, do something. They can't take him—"
"He's not yours to keep," I said.
My voice was steady. I didn't know where the strength came from — maybe from the five days of empty arms, maybe from the burning rage that had been building since I saw that photo.
I walked past them both and into the house.
The nursery was upstairs. I found it by following the soft glow of a nightlight and the quiet sounds of a sleeping infant.
My son was in a white crib, dressed in blue pajamas I hadn't bought, surrounded by stuffed animals I hadn't chosen. A mobile turned slowly above him, casting stars on the ceiling.
But it was his face — *his face* — that broke me.
He had my nose. My chin. He was so small. So impossibly small.
I lifted him gently, pressing him against my chest, and the tears came silently.
Behind me, I could hear Ryan arguing with the police, Sienna's rising hysteria, Dominic's calm and devastating responses.
But in that moment, none of it mattered.
My son was in my arms, and I was never letting go again.