He couldn’t meet her gaze.
“I did,” he admitted quietly.
Nora wiped her eyes roughly. “So no, Adrian. You don’t get to ask questions now.”
One of the babies started crying. Then another. Nora juggled them awkwardly, exhaustion written in every movement.
Adrian watched, throat tight. “Why are you out here?”
“What?”
“Why are you sleeping on a bench?”
Nora’s face flushed. “My landlord locked me out last night. Rent was due three days ago.”
“Where’s your family?”
“Dead. Car accident. Two years ago.”
The word landed like a blow.
Margaret made a small, broken sound. “Oh, sweetheart…”
“Don’t,” Nora said sharply. “Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me now.”
Adrian pulled out his phone. “I’m calling my driver.”
“Put that away.”
“We’re getting you somewhere warm. A hotel. A doctor—”
“I said no.”
“Nora, it’s forty degrees out here—”
“And whose fault is that?” She stepped closer, voice rising. “You want to help? Where were you when I was working three jobs pregnant? Where were you when I delivered alone? Where were you when I ran out of formula and had to water it down?”
Adrian’s hands shook. “I didn’t know.”
“Because you didn’t want to know.”
Margaret sank onto the bench, crying openly now. “I told you to leave her alone,” she whispered to Adrian. “I said she wasn’t suitable. I was wrong. I was so wrong.”
Nora stared at her, something raw flickering across her face.
“You told me I was just a phase,” Nora said quietly. “That Adrian needed someone from his ‘world.’ Someone polished. Someone useful.”
Margaret covered her face. “I know.”
“You said I’d drag him down.”
“I know.”
“And you…” Nora turned back to Adrian. “You agreed. You looked at me and said, ‘This isn’t going anywhere.’ Like I was nothing.”
Adrian’s voice cracked. “I was wrong.”
“Yes. You were.”
The babies were all crying now. Nora tried to soothe them, swaying, shushing, but her arms were shaking.
Adrian moved without thinking. He reached for one of the babies—a little girl with impossibly long lashes.
Nora flinched but didn’t pull away.
The baby settled against his chest, tiny fist curling into his shirt.
Something broke inside him.
“What are their names?” he asked hoarsely.
Nora hesitated. “Emma. Noah. Lily.”
“How old?”
“Eighteen months.”
Adrian looked down at the baby in his arms—Lily. She had Nora’s nose. His dark hair.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered.