Hospitals still smelled like endings — but that morning, something felt different.
The air was softer. The light warmer.
Amelia, half-asleep beside Aunt Chloe's bed, stirred when a gentle knock echoed through the quiet ward.
"Mrs. Jones?" a nurse peeked in, whispering. "You have… a visitor."
Amelia blinked. "A visitor?" Her mind raced — Aunt Maya, the kids' nanny, wouldn't come this early, and Lydia ould have informed her if she was going to fly into Manchester that morning .
Before she could ask, a tall figure stepped past the nurse.
Christopher King.
He looked painfully out of place in that pale, sterile corridor — all tailored suit and quiet authority, as if the whole world adjusted its tempo when he walked through.
Amelia shot up, startled. "Mr. King? What are you—"
"I heard your aunt's condition stabilized." His voice was calm, deep, almost gentle. "I came to see how you were holding up."
Amelia froze, still processing. He came here? Himself?
Her heart clenched — half confusion, half suspicion.
"You didn't have to—"
"I had an important meeting here in Manchester and decided to drop by," he interrupted softly, eyes flicking toward Aunt Chloe sleeping peacefully, tubes humming beside her.
For a moment, silence pressed between them.
And then — the unmistakable patter of tiny footsteps.
"Mommy!"
Three small whirlwinds burst into the room — Lily, Ethan, and Emily — trailed by Maya, breathless from chasing them.
"Oh heavens, these kids—" Maya stopped short, noticing Christopher. Her jaw dropped slightly, then she clamped her mouth shut and murmured, "Children, say hello."
Lily clutched her plush bunny and stared up at Christopher like he'd walked out of a cartoon.
"Are you the doctor?" she asked innocently.
Christopher knelt — yes, knelt, expensive suit and all — to meet her eye level.
"Not exactly," he said, voice low, steady. "Just a friend of your mommy's."
Ethan frowned, folding his arms in the same exact way Christopher often did during board meetings.
"You don't look like Mommy's friend. You look like a boss."
Christopher's lips twitched. For the first time that day, a real smile cracked through his stone-cold mask. "Maybe both."
Emily tugged his sleeve curiously. "You smell nice."
A sound escaped Amelia — half-laugh, half-sigh. "Emily…"
"It's alright," Christopher murmured, still crouched down. "What's your name?"
"I'm Emily. That's Lily. That's Ethan. We're triplets!" she announced proudly, holding up three fingers.
Triplets.
The word hit him like a soft blow.
Something flickered in his eyes — something he didn't recognize, something uncomfortably human.
He glanced from one small face to the next — Lily's soft curls, Ethan's defiant chin, Emily's dimpled grin — and felt a strange, magnetic familiarity coil through his chest.
They looked like…
No. Impossible.
He blinked it away. "Triplets, huh? That's… impressive."
Ethan smirked. "We eat a lot."
Amelia's cheeks colored. "Ethan—"
Christopher chuckled under his breath, standing slowly. The sound of it startled her; it was rare, warm, real.
"I see that."
Maya, sensing the unspoken tension, gently ushered the kids aside. "Come on, little ones. Let's give Mommy a moment to talk with her friend."
The door clicked softly behind them.
Now it was just Amelia and him.
"You've kids?" he asked being surprised. Amelia who was speechless couldn't provide answers to that question and decided to wave it behind .
"That doesn't matter, you didn't have to come," she said, crossing her arms — mostly to hide the way her hands trembled. "You already called."
"I owed you more than a call," he replied simply. His eyes softened. "What happened to you — that shouldn't have happened. I should've protected my employee better."
Her throat tightened. "Your employee," she repeated bitterly. "That's what I am, right?"
He didn't answer immediately. His gaze lingered on her — the exhaustion beneath her eyes, the quiet strength still holding her spine straight.
"You're more than that," he said finally.
The words landed heavy between them, charged and dangerous.
"Mr. King—"
"Christopher," he corrected gently.
That threw her off balance. "What?"
"Call me Christopher," he said again, voice quieter this time, almost like he regretted the impulse. "At least outside the office."
She looked away quickly, heat rushing to her cheeks. "Why are you really here?"
He hesitated, then sighed. "To see that you're alright… and to tell you personally that your suspension will be lifted once PR cleans up the mess. You'll be reinstated."
She blinked. "You're serious?"
"I don't make empty statements."
Relief washed through her — quick, fleeting — followed by a pinch of skepticism.
"Why the sudden change of heart?"
Christopher's jaw worked silently for a moment. He thought of Clara. Of the server logs. Of his own guilt.
"Because you didn't deserve it," he said finally. "And I don't repeat other people's mistakes."
For the first time in weeks, Amelia's eyes softened toward him.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For believing me."
He gave a short nod, adjusting his cufflinks — a nervous habit he hadn't realized he still had.
Then his voice dropped low again. "And Amelia—"
"Yes?"
"Keep those kids close. They're… remarkable."
Her breath caught. "You noticed that already?"
He smiled faintly. "Hard not to."
He turned toward the door, but paused.
For a fleeting second, he looked back at the picture before him — Amelia by the bedside, sunlight spilling across her hair, and the faint laughter of three little voices drifting from the hallway.
Something inside him twisted painfully.
He didn't know what to call it — guilt, longing, recognition — but it scared him more than any hostile takeover ever had.
As he walked away, Amelia whispered to herself,
"Why does it feel like he's seen ghosts that look like me?"
---
That evening, as the city lights dimmed outside the hospital window, Amelia sat with Aunt Chloe.
"I've made up my mind," she said softly, her voice steady. "You and the kids are coming back with me to Nova Heights."
Aunt Chloe blinked. "What? Amelia, that's—"
"I'm done hiding them in another country, pretending distance keeps them safe," she interrupted, her eyes glinting with quiet resolve. "If trouble finds me, I want my children where I can protect them."
Aunt Chloe looked at her for a long time, then smiled faintly, the kind of smile that carried history and warning. "You sound just like your mother."
Amelia exhaled deeply, gaze turning toward the horizon — the city that had given her pain, purpose, and now, maybe… a second chance.
In another corner of that same city, Christopher King stood by his window, whiskey untouched in his hand.
He could still hear their laughter.
He could still see her eyes.
And somewhere deep in his chest — beneath all the logic and restraint — a dangerous thought bloomed:
Why was I remembered of my younger self when I saw her kids?
---