Daniel went completely still.

His hand dropped from his forehead, his eyes locking onto mine with sudden, sharp intensity.

“Where did you learn that?” he asked.

His voice was barely a whisper, but it carried a strange weight.

“My mother taught me,” I lied, my heart starting to beat faster against the monitor on my finger.

“No,” Daniel said, standing up from his chair.

“Evelyn wrote that. She wrote it for the boys when they were in the incubator. She never wrote it down, Claire. She only sang it in the private ward.”

The silence in the room became heavy.

Only the steady, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor filled the space.

Before I could answer, the curtain slid back with a sharp metallic rattle.

Dr. Shah walked in, holding a silver clipboard.

He looked at Daniel, then at me, his expression grave.

“Mr. Whitmore,” Dr. Shah said, adjusting his glasses.

“I have the preliminary lab results for Ms. Bennett.”

Daniel stepped back, his hand still resting on Lucas’s shoulder.

“Is she going to be alright?” Daniel asked.

“She collapsed from severe exhaustion and dehydration,” the doctor said, looking down at his charts.

“But we ran a full panel to rule out any underlying cardiac issues.”

Dr. Shah paused, looking between us.

“We noticed some significant scarring in the pelvic region on the ultrasound, Ms. Bennett.”

I tried to pull the blanket higher, but my arms felt like lead.

“It’s old,” I said quickly.

“From a previous surgery.”

Dr. Shah shook his head slowly, his eyes kind but searching.

“The tissue damage and the specific nature of the uterine scarring suggest otherwise.”

He looked directly at Daniel.

“These are typical markers of a complicated, full-term cesarean delivery.”

Daniel frowned, looking puzzled.

“Claire has no children on her employment record,” Daniel said.

“She has worked for us for three years as a single woman.”