Margaret turned to Adrian, horror in her eyes. “You didn’t.”
He couldn’t meet her gaze.
“I did,” he admitted quietly.
Nora wiped her eyes roughly. “So no, Adrian. You don’t get to ask questions now.”
One of the babies started crying. Then another. Nora juggled them awkwardly, exhaustion written in every movement.
Adrian watched, throat tight. “Why are you out here?”
“What?”
“Why are you sleeping on a bench?”
Nora’s face flushed. “My landlord locked me out last night. Rent was due three days ago.”
“Where’s your family?”
“Dead. Car accident. Two years ago.”
The word landed like a blow.
Margaret made a small, broken sound. “Oh, sweetheart…”
“Don’t,” Nora said sharply. “Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me now.”
Adrian pulled out his phone. “I’m calling my driver.”
“Put that away.”
“We’re getting you somewhere warm. A hotel. A doctor—”
“I said no.”
“Nora, it’s forty degrees out here—”
“And whose fault is that?” She stepped closer, voice rising. “You want to help? Where were you when I was working three jobs pregnant? Where were you when I delivered alone? Where were you when I ran out of formula and had to water it down?”
Adrian’s hands shook. “I didn’t know.”
“Because you didn’t want to know.”