Chapter 6 - The Nursery
"Come with me," Dante said after a long, suffocating silence.
"I'm not moving until—"
"Leo is awake," Dante cut her off, his voice softening by a fraction. "And he's screaming for you. Mrs. Higgins tried to feed him, but he threw the bowl across the room. He wants his Elina."
Elina hesitated, then let out a defeated sigh. She followed Dante down the wide hallway to a set of double doors painted a soft, pale blue.
Inside, the nursery was a sunlit sanctuary filled with expensive toys, a crib carved from dark cherry wood, and rocking chairs upholstered in cream-colored linen.
At the sound of the door opening, a tiny figure standing up against the bars of the crib turned around. Little Leo was dressed in a gray onesie, his blond hair standing up in tufts around his head. The moment his big, serious eyes landed on Elina, his entire face lit up with a brilliant, toothy grin.
"Ma-ma," the baby gurgled, throwing his arms up into the air and bouncing on his chubby legs.
Elina froze. A strange, heavy sensation bloomed in her chest—not fear, but a sudden, overwhelming wave of warmth that brought stinging tears to the corners of her eyes.
"He... he didn't say that to me," Dante murmured, standing beside her, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. "Not once since she vanished. He hasn't called anyone 'mama' in over a year."
Without thinking, Elina stepped past Dante and walked straight to the crib. She unlatched the safety gate and lifted the boy into her arms.
Leo squealed with delight, wrapping his arms fiercely around her neck and pressing his wet, sticky cheek directly against hers. The scent of baby powder and milk washed over her, and for a terrifying second, Elina felt a flash of a memory—a bright sunny room, a crib just like this one, and a soft lullaby hummed in a voice she had never heard in real life.
No, she told herself fiercely, blinking away the fog in her head. It's psychological. It's Stockholm syndrome. You're just projecting because you grew up an orphan.
Dante watched them from across the room, his expression a mask of turbulent emotion. "She used to sing to him like that," he whispered, stepping closer. "Every night at nine o'clock. Right in that rocking chair."
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"I'm not her, Dante," Elina said, her voice shaking as she held the baby tight against her shoulder. "Even if we share a face, even if our DNA matches... I didn't live her life. I don't remember you. I don't remember this house."
"Then we'll build new memories," Dante said, his voice dropping into a quiet, absolute vow. "If the past was stolen from you, I'll help you get it back."
