A nurse brought over the official birth registry clipboard.

“We need the legal name for the certificate, Ms. Prescott,” she said.

“Leo,” I said, my voice firm despite my exhaustion. “Leo Vance.”

I used my mother’s maiden name, leaving the Prescott name entirely off the document.

The nurse wrote it down in neat, blue ink.

“And the father’s name?” she asked, her pen hovering over the white paper.

“None,” I said. “Leave it blank.”

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded and checked a box on the form.

She stamped the paper with a red ink pad, sealing the document.

By leaving the father’s line blank, Callum would have no immediate custody rights under Illinois law. He would have to prove paternity through a lengthy court battle while locked in a federal cell.

The nurse took the clipboard and slipped it into a metal slot by the door.

Arthur returned a few minutes later, carrying a manila folder.

His eyes softened when he saw the baby sleeping against my shoulder.

“He looks like you, Avery,” Arthur said quietly.

“Did you file the petition?” I asked.