And Julian was far from careful.

When he shut me out of our finances, he accidentally left behind passwords, transaction records, shell-company invoices, and emails between him and Eleanor discussing how they intended to “starve her financially until she surrenders custody.”

I didn’t confront them.

I didn’t beg for mercy.

I saved every piece of evidence.

Now, inside the delivery room, the doctor was staring at my newborn as though he were holding someone who had returned from the dead.

“What’s wrong with him?” I asked hoarsely.

The doctor lifted his eyes toward me, tears clinging to his lashes.

“Who is this baby’s father?”

A wave of cold fear swept through my body.

“Julian Vance,” I answered.

The doctor tightened his grip on the blanket wrapped around my son.

At that exact moment, the door swung open.

And Julian walked into the room with a smile on his face…

PART 2: The Birthmark Eleanor Tried to Hide

“Well,” Julian said, looking from the baby to me. “She survived.”

Eleanor entered behind him, dressed in pearls and carrying no flowers. Her eyes went straight to my son.

“Is this him?”

I pulled his blanket closer. “His name is Noah.”

Julian placed a leather folder beside me. He claimed the documents would let him add Noah to his insurance while I recovered, but the first page carried a different title:

VOLUNTARY TEMPORARY CUSTODY AGREEMENT.

“You want me to surrender my baby?”

“It’s temporary,” Julian said. “You have no stable income or suitable home.”

“I lost those things because you froze our accounts.”

He held out a pen, but I refused to take it. Dr. Marcus Hale stepped between Julian and the bassinet.

“She said no.”

As Noah moved, the blanket slipped beneath his left  ear, revealing a crescent-shaped birthmark.

Eleanor gasped.

“Cover him,” she ordered the nurse.

Dr. Hale stared at her. “Why does that mark frighten you?”

“It doesn’t.”

The doctor touched the same place behind his own ear. His father, sister, and newborn son had all carried an identical mark.

“My wife died after childbirth thirty-six years ago,” he said. “I was told our son died too.”

Julian gave a cold laugh. “Thousands of people have birthmarks.”

“Then show me behind your ear.”

Julian froze. I already knew what was there because I had seen it throughout our marriage—the same small crescent, usually hidden beneath his hair.