Chapter 78

She was fighting for survival.

The night air carried a sharp chill as couples strolled along the boulevard, laughter floating between them. But Harrison shivered, wrapping her arms around herself as if shielding her fragile heart from the cold.

She returned to the Falcon family estate, intending to check on Eleanor. As she neared Eleanor's door, she caught the murmur of voices—Eleanor speaking to Nathaniel in that gentle, knowing tone.

"Harrison's adoptive father visited today," Eleanor said softly. "I could see how much it affected her. You should spend time with her, Nathaniel. She's endured so much."

A quiet sigh followed.

"Harrison was sent away as a child. Her real father died young, and her mother never showed her kindness. I see the loneliness in her, the way she aches for love. Despite her adoptive father's prison sentence, look at the woman she's become—strong, resilient. She married into our family, and for that, we owe him gratitude. If he needs anything—a home, work, financial support—ensure it's provided. Consider it honoring Harrison's father."

Under the dim glow of the lamplight, Nathaniel's sharp features softened as he nodded. "I'll take care of it, Grandmother."

Harrison lingered outside the door, her lashes suddenly damp. She didn’t enter. Instead, she turned and retreated to her room.

Nathaniel worked late in his study, only returning to their bedroom when the night had deepened. Harrison was already asleep, curled into herself beneath the covers.

After his shower, Nathaniel noticed something on the nightstand—the million-dollar check he’d given to Vincent. Harrison had retrieved it.

Now, it lay there, returned to him.

A faint smile touched his lips as his gaze settled on Harrison’s sleeping face. The soft glow of the bedside lamp painted her in warm light, but her rest was uneasy. Her delicate brows knitted together, and a whisper escaped her lips. "Mom… Mom…"

Her long lashes trembled, and then tears spilled over, tracing silent paths down her porcelain cheeks.

Nathaniel stilled. Without thinking, he reached out, brushing away a tear with his thumb.

At his touch, Harrison—still lost in sleep—grabbed his hand. "Mom… don’t go…"

Nathaniel stiffened. Did she think he was her mother? "Harrison, I’m not—"

He tried to pull away, but Harrison nuzzled into his palm, her face pressing against his skin. "Please… don’t leave me…"

Exasperated, Nathaniel muttered, "I told you, I’m not your mother."

Then, Harrison’s body trembled. A sob broke free, raw and aching. "Mom…"

Something twisted in Nathaniel’s chest. Tears streaked her face, her sorrow so palpable it clawed at him.

His resistance crumbled. This was the first time he’d seen her cry. And he couldn’t stand it.

Instead of retreating to the couch, Nathaniel slid into bed beside her. His hand settled on her back, patting gently—awkward at first, then with growing certainty.

He wasn’t used to comforting anyone. But his voice softened anyway.

"Shh… it’s alright. I’m here." A pause. Then, reluctantly: "…Mommy’s here."