Page 77 of Bound By Crimson

Chapter Seventy-Seven

Ten Tiny Toes

She hadn’t heard the lock click in three nights.

It wasn’t an accident.

They thought she couldn’t move.

Couldn’t walk.

Couldn’t run.

So they stopped locking the door.

She let them believe it.

By day, she stayed curled in bed. Blanketed in silence.

But at night, after the house fell into stillness, she listened.

To footsteps. To plumbing.

To Noah.

She mapped the patterns in her head.

Tessa walked light.

Bernarda walked fast.

The butler’s shoes clicked on the wood.

Mrs. Thornwick never made a sound.

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On the seventh night, she made her move.

She stood slowly. One hand on the nightstand for balance.

Her legs held .

The hallway creaked once—but no one stirred.

She floated, barefoot, across the hallway.

Careful. Soundless.

Past the staircase.

Toward the east wing.

Toward the nursery.

She opened the door like it might shatter in her hands.

Noah was in the crib, curled beneath a pale blue blanket.

There was a soft mobile above him, turning slightly in the breeze from the vent.

He was bigger than she expected.

Still small but no longer brand new.

Her eyes blurred.

She stepped closer.

His hand twitched.

His little mouth opened in sleep.

He’s real. He’s still mine.

Lyric reached down and lifted him carefully.

Her arms ached—not from heaviness, but from the weight of longing finally come to rest.

He didn’t cry.

He stirred. Snuggled closer. Made a small sound like a sigh.

Then he opened his eyes—wide, golden, and uncanny.

The same rare shade that marked the Thornwick bloodline.

Lyric’s breath caught. For a heartbeat, fear pierced through her—because those eyes meant legacy.

Expectation. Control. But then he blinked slowly, and she saw it.

Her own eyes looking back. Not just his father’s blood… hers too.

For a moment she was scared he would cry. She whispered quickly, “It’s okay. I’m your mama.” And just like that—like something in her voice reached him—he relaxed, eyelids fluttering closed as he drifted back to sleep.

And she broke.

Silently.

Completely.

He smelled like baby shampoo and powdered milk and something only he could smell like—her son.

Her Noah .

His warmth seeped into her chest like sunlight.

Familiar.

Devastating.

She wanted to sob. To bawl. To sink to the floor and shatter under the weight of it all. Every scream, every tear she hadn’t let out crushed against her ribs—but she held it in, clenching her jaw as the ache swelled up her throat, threatening to choke her.

Her chest was heavy. Her throat tight.

She breathed through it.

One breath at a time.

His tiny hand reached up and wrapped around her finger.

He squeezed.

A full, perfect squeeze.

She choked on the air she pulled into her lungs.

Then looked down at his little toes, barely the size of her thumbnail.

Ten perfect little stories she had missed.

She rocked gently, afraid even the floor might betray her.

“Noah,” she whispered, her lips brushing through his soft brown hair. “I’m here. I’m so sorry. I love you so much.”

But she knew she didn’t have long.

She couldn’t let them know she could walk. Not yet. Not until she was strong enough. Not until she had a plan.

With a heart that felt like it was being carved in half, she rose.

Kissed his forehead one last time.

Laid him back in his crib.

Tucked the blanket around him.

Then turned.

And walked back to her room like she had never left.