Chapter 90
After escorting his mother and Auntie Marry back to their rooms, Alexander Hamilton stood alone in the hallway.
His fingers lingered on the doorknob for several seconds before he finally pushed open his own door.
The faint scent of disinfectant lingered in the air—evidence of the hotel’s recent cleaning. Yet his gaze was drawn irresistibly to the nightstand, where Evelyn Carter’s thermos had once sat.
He loosened his tie and tossed it onto the bed, then pulled a diary from his inner suit pocket.
The leather cover showed signs of wear, clearly having been opened countless times. He never knew Evelyn kept such a diary.
His phone screen glared brightly in the dim room. Annabelle Taylor’s name flashed insistently, like a relentless curse. He silenced it with a swipe and flung it to the foot of the bed.
Two Anns—one gentle as moonlight, the other scorching like the sun.
The irony struck him suddenly.
After twenty years of friendship, he had never truly seen Annabelle for who she was. Or perhaps, he had willfully ignored the signs of her obsession.
When the phone finally died, its screen going dark, he exhaled in relief.
He switched on the bedside lamp, its warm glow falling over the diary. The moment he opened it, Evelyn’s handwriting stole his breath.
"May you find peace and joy in this world.
May starlight always dwell in your eyes.
May someone love you as life itself.
May you never endure the pain your mother has known.
—For my precious one."
Her script mirrored her—delicate yet strong, the final stroke lifting slightly like a smile.
His fingertips brushed the words, the texture of the paper reminding him of the rubber gloves she wore during surgeries.
The first entry was dated three days after their wedding anniversary.
"HCG positive. I stared at the test results for half an hour. As a doctor, I know exactly what this means—but as an expectant mother, I panicked. How do I tell Alexander? He’s been so distracted lately. Maybe I should wait for the right moment."
Further in, her writing grew lighter.
"Delivered twins today. The mother held my hand and cried. It made me imagine myself on that delivery table in a few months—and I felt a flicker of excitement. Little one, I sneaked some ice cream today. Don’t tell Daddy."
"Woke up with heartburn and tiptoed to the bathroom to retch. When I came back, he was sleeping like a child, his lashes casting tiny shadows. Suddenly, I hoped our baby would look just like him."
"Scheduled the NT scan. My colleagues tease me for being overly cautious, but I keep double-checking the equipment settings. Little one, your mom will be the most skilled OB-GYN—and the one who loves you most."
Each word was a dull blade, slowly carving open his chest. The moments he’d missed, the joys she’d experienced alone—all transformed into an ache that spread through him.
His thumb froze over the words "my little one."
His throat tightened, forcing him to pause and take a shaky breath.
The entries grew hesitant.
"Annabelle was hospitalized after a car accident. Alexander stayed at the hospital all night. This morning, when he came home to change, there was lipstick on his collar. Little one, Daddy’s busy right now. Let’s wait a little longer, okay?"
The page blurred. Only then did he realize his tears had fallen onto the diary. He hurriedly wiped them with his sleeve, smudging the ink.