He shook his head gently, his expression steady and sincere.
“That child is my family, and if you allow it, you are part of that family too.”
Abigail had spent months building walls to protect herself from being hurt again. But there was no pity in his voice and no pressure, only something honest and unwavering.
She looked down at her son, who slept peacefully in her arms.
“I do not even know what to name him yet,” she said softly.
For the first time, Dr. Pierce smiled.
“My wife’s name was Judith, but I always called her Judy,” he said.
Abigail thought for a long moment before speaking again.
“Hello, my love,” she whispered to the baby. “I think your name will be Mason Pierce Foster.”
Three weeks later, Dr. Pierce found his son.
Julian was living in a cheap motel outside Austin, working odd jobs and drinking more than he should. He looked like someone who had been running from himself for far too long.
The doctor did not yell or accuse him of anything. He simply placed a photograph on the table in front of him.
A newborn baby, eyes closed, with tiny hands curled tightly.