Lucas was supposed to bring joy. Instead, the house grew heavier by the day. Doctors came and went. Bottles of specialized formula were discarded half full. At night, arguments echoed down the halls.
One night, close to two in the morning, Rebecca was cleaning the upper corridor when raised voices stopped her cold. “I cannot do this anymore,” Patricia shouted. “This baby is destroying everything.” Benjamin sounded hollow. “He has not eaten in days. The doctors say they are trying.”
Days. The word struck Rebecca like a blow. Her body remembered the instinctive hunger of a newborn, the cry that begged for survival rather than comfort.
The argument ended abruptly. Patricia swept past Rebecca without a glance, silk robe whispering against the floor. Behind the closed door, the crying continued, faint and exhausted. After several minutes, Rebecca did something she had not been hired to do. She knocked.
Benjamin opened the door looking broken. His hair was uncombed, his eyes bloodshot. Lucas lay limp against his chest, pale and frighteningly still. “I do not know what else to try,” he whispered. “Nothing works.”
Rebecca stepped forward instinctively and took the baby. Her body reacted before her mind could intervene. Lucas quieted immediately, his eyes opening as if recognizing safety. Rebecca swallowed hard. “Sir,” she said carefully, “I recently gave birth. My child passed away, but my body still produces milk.”
The confession hurt like reopening a wound. “If you allow me,” she continued, “just tonight, I can try.”
Benjamin hesitated only a moment. “Please,” he said. “Help him.”
She sat on the sofa, hands shaking, and brought the baby to her chest. Lucas latched on instantly, feeding with desperate strength. Benjamin sank into a chair and covered his face, the illusion of control finally shattered.
That night, Lucas slept peacefully for the first time in nearly a week. Rebecca believed it would remain a private mercy. She was wrong.
The next morning, Patricia walked in and froze. “What is happening here,” she demanded.
Benjamin tried to explain, but Patricia saw only humiliation. “You let her feed our son,” she said sharply.
“I just wanted him to live,” Rebecca replied, standing tall despite the tremor in her legs.
Patricia’s eyes narrowed. “And how do we know you are healthy.”
“He is alive because of her,” Benjamin snapped.