Chapter 3 - Racine Avenue
The snow was beginning to fall again by the time Adrian’s Mercedes crept down Racine Avenue. It was a gritty, working-class neighborhood far removed from the glass towers of downtown. Row houses with peeling paint, narrow sidewalks slushy with gray ice, and flickering streetlamps defined the block.
He parked half a block away, unable to bring the luxury vehicle directly in front of the brick building where Claire said Lily lived.
The building was a three-story walk-up with rusted fire escapes. A handwritten sign taped to the front door read: BELLS BROKEN. KNOCK LOUDLY FOR APT 2B.
Adrian climbed the narrow, dimly lit wooden stairs. The air smelled of damp coats, radiator steam, and cheap cooking oil. When he reached the second floor, he found apartment 2B.
He didn't knock immediately. He stood outside the thin wooden door, listening.
From inside came the faint, sweet sound of a lullaby being hummed softly, accompanied by the gentle clinking of ceramic mugs. Then, a child’s high, cheerful giggle cut through the silence.
Adrian raised his fist and struck the wood twice.
The humming stopped instantly.
For a long moment, there was absolute stillness inside the apartment. Then footsteps padded softly across the linoleum floor. The lock turned with a sharp click, and the door swung open.
Lily Hart stopped dead.
She was wearing an oversized gray flannel shirt over jeans, her hair pulled back in a messy clip. In her arms, resting securely against her shoulder, was the baby—the little girl with the dark, serious eyes and the yellow knit hat.
For a few seconds, neither of them breathed.
“Adrian,” Lily whispered. Her voice was barely a breath, devoid of anger, filled only with a profound, bone-weary resignation.
“Lily,” he managed to choke out.
His eyes dropped past her face, locking onto the baby. Up close, the resemblance was undeniable. The shape of the eyes, the slight curve of the lower lip, the quiet, intense way the child studied him without crying.
“She has your eyes,” Adrian whispered, stepping forward instinctively.
Lily shifted her weight, instinctively pulling the baby back, creating an impenetrable wall of maternal defense between them.
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“Don't,” Lily said, her voice hardening. “Don't look at her, Adrian. You don't have that right.”
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