Winston lifted the baby carefully from the box, cradling him against his chest with a tenderness that seemed to surprise even himself, three months of unbearable grief beginning to crack open into something he'd nearly forgotten how to feel — relief, overwhelming and immediate, flooding through him as he examined every detail of the small face looking back up at him.
It was Theo. He knew it with a certainty that needed no DNA test, no formal confirmation — the shape of his eyes, the small birthmark near his left ear, details Winston had memorized during the too-brief weeks he'd had with his son before his disappearance.
Behind him, the mansion's front door opened, and Winston's longtime housekeeper, Marguerite, stepped out onto the entrance steps, her expression shifting rapidly from confusion into stunned disbelief as she registered the infant in Winston's arms.
"Mr. Drummond," she said, her voice carrying urgent concern, "please, bring them inside. It's freezing out here."