Chapter 5 - The First Morning
The next morning, the sun broke over the Hill estate with a brilliant, golden clarity that hadn't been seen in three years.
For the first time since Lauren’s death, Alexander ordered every blackout curtain in the west wing pulled open. Natural sunlight flooded the marble corridors, warming the cold floors and illuminating the dust particles dancing in the air.
In the second-floor breakfast nook overlooking the formal gardens, a small wooden high-chair had been brought up from the storage basement.
Sitting in the chair was David.
He was wearing a bright blue sweater—a gift Christina had brought him two weeks ago—and pair of soft yellow socks. His dark hair had been neatly combed by Christina, and his face had a healthy, pink flush that had completely replaced the ghostly pallor of his years under sedation.
Sitting across from him was Alexander.
The billionaire had stripped off his suit coat, rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, and was currently attempting—with great difficulty and immense focus—to feed his son a small spoon of warm oatmeal.
"Come on, buddy," Alexander coaxed gently, holding the spoon near David's mouth. "Just one more bite. Christina says you need your energy."
David looked at the spoon, then looked at his father. A tiny, mischievous grin spread across the boy's face. He reached out with his left hand, slapped the spoon, and sent a dollop of oatmeal flying straight onto Alexander’s forehead.
In the doorway, Christina gasped, covering her mouth with her apron. "Oh! David! No!"
Alexander sat frozen for a second, oatmeal dripping down between his eyebrows onto his nose.
Then, for the first time in four long years, Alexander Hill began to laugh.
It started as a low rumble in his chest, then burst out into a loud, booming, joyful laugh that shook his shoulders and brought fresh tears to his eyes. Hearing his father laugh, David clapped his hands together, letting out a high-pitched, musical giggle that echoed through the sunlit room.
Christina stood in the doorway, wiping her eyes, a deep, beautiful warmth filling her heart as she watched the cold, silent house transform into a home.
Alexander wiped the oatmeal from his forehead with a linen napkin, still chuckling as he looked over at Christina.
"Christina," Alexander said, his voice rich with warmth. "Come sit down."
"Oh, no, Mr. Hill," she said quickly, gesturing toward her apron. "I still have to finish dusting the east gallery, and Nurse Miller said she needed the fresh towels—"
"Christina," Alexander repeated, standing up and pulling out the leather chair beside David. "You are never dusting another floor in this house again."
Christina blinked, startled. "Mr. Hill?"
"Sit," Alexander invited gently.
Christina hesitated, then slowly walked over and sat down in the leather chair. David immediately leaned over from his high-chair, grabbing a corner of Christina’s sleeve, pulling it toward his cheek with a satisfied sigh.
Alexander sat back down, looking across the table at the woman who had saved his life.
"I spoke with the board of directors at Johns Hopkins this morning," Alexander said smoothly. "I am establishing a ten-million-dollar endowment fund in your name—the 'Christina Baker Pediatric Rehabilitation Trust.' It will provide full scholarships for students who want to become occupational and physical therapists but can't afford tuition."
Christina’s jaw dropped. "Mr. Hill... I... I can't accept that! That's—"
"That’s just the beginning," Alexander interrupted, his dark eyes locking onto hers with intense sincerity. "I also spoke with my estate attorney. I want to offer you a permanent position as David's Director of Care and Personal Guardian. You will manage his therapy, his schooling, his staff, and his daily schedule. You will have a full apartment in the main house, a salary of two hundred thousand dollars a year, and complete authority over who touches my son."
Christina sat frozen, her heart pounding against her ribs. Tears welled up in her brown eyes, spilling down her cheeks. "Mr. Hill... I'm just a cleaner. I don't have a college degree—"
"You had the humanity to see my son when every doctor in the world called him a corpse," Alexander said, his voice trembling with profound gratitude. "You had the courage to fight for him when I was too weak to fight for myself. Degrees don't make a mother or a guardian, Christina. Love does. And my son loves you."
David squeezed Christina’s sleeve tighter, looking up at her with his clear brown eyes.
"Tina," the boy whispered happily. "Stay."
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Christina wiped her tears, leaning down to press a soft kiss against David’s hair. She looked back at Alexander, offering him a radiant, tearful smile.
"I'm staying," she promised.
