Page 12 of Echo’s Secret

"Yeah," I say. "Maybe I do."

Upstairs, I hear Theo crying. Then Hannah's soft voice soothing him. Then silence as he settles.

My son. My family.

Phoenix is right. This isn't about being prepared. It's about showing up.

And I've never walked away from anything that mattered.

I'm not starting now.

Chapter 4 - Hannah

Theo is finally asleep.

I stand over the small twin bed in this guest room, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. He's lying on his back the way the doctor instructed, tiny fists curled beside his head. His face has relaxed into that peaceful expression babies get when they're deeply asleep.

For the first time in three months, I let myself breathe.

The room is basic but clean. Twin bed with gray sheets, nightstand, lamp, dresser. There's a window overlooking the back courtyard. Bars on the outside, decorative-looking but functional. Everything about this place screams protection. Safety. Things I stopped believing in a long time ago.

Nora helped me get Theo settled. Showed me where the bathroom was, brought me a glass of water, asked if I needed anything else. Her daughter Grace signed something that Nora translated: "She says your baby is beautiful."

I thanked them both. Meant it. Then they left me alone.

And now I'm standing in this stranger's clubhouse, in a room I've been told is mine for as long as I need it, watching my sick baby sleep while downstairs nine bikers and their women plan shopping trips for supplies I can't afford.

The check is still in my pocket. Forty-two thousand dollars. Written without hesitation. Given without conditions.

My knees give out.

I sink to the floor beside the bed, back against the mattress, and the tears I've been holding back since I drove through those gates finally break free.

I cry silently, a skill learned young at Sacred Heart. Never let them hear you. Never let them know you're breaking. The moment someone knows what hurts you is the moment they can use it against you.

But nobody's here to use it against me right now. Just me and Theo and this room that smells like fresh laundry and motor oil.

I came here expecting... I don't know what I expected. Anger, maybe. Rejection. Wesley telling me this wasn't his problem, that I made my choices and now I had to live with them. The door slammed in my face. The kind of ending I've gotten used to my whole life.

Instead, I got a check. A room. A president who said "you're family now" like it was that simple. Women who immediately started planning how to help. Men who didn't question whether Theo was Wesley's, they just looked at his eyes and knew.

I got welcomed.

I don't know what to do with that.

The tears come harder. Months of fear and exhaustion catching up all at once. I bury my face in my hands and let it out: every hospital visit, every bill I couldn't pay, every night I lay awake terrified Theo would stop breathing before I could get him the help he needed.

Every moment of crushing, isolating loneliness.

I never expected to be received like this. Never expected people I don't know to care whether my son lives or dies. Never expected Wesley to look at Theo and immediately claim him as his own.

Never expected any of this to feel like a second chance.

I'm still crying when I hear very slow footsteps in the hallway. Someone trying not to disturb Theo.

The door opens.

Wesley stands in the doorway, taking in the scene: me on the floor with tears streaming down my face, Theo asleep on the bed above me.