The Surrogate He Discarded

By the time Kristoff returned to the mansion, the sun was already sinking beyond the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of amber and crimson.

For once, the weight that usually settled across his features was absent.

His visit to the hospital had left him in an unusually good mood. He could still picture Isobel leaning against the bed, the softness in her eyes when she looked at Alexander, and the way the baby had stubbornly refused to leave her side.

Apparently, Alexander felt the same way.

The moment Kristoff carried him out of Isobel’s hospital room, the seven-month-old’s face crumpled.

A loud, unhappy cry filled the foyer.

”Someone isn’t pleased to be going home,” Nanny Celia remarked as she hurried over.

Kristoff glanced down at the baby in his arms.

Alexander twisted toward the door, tiny hands reaching outward as if he expected someone to come after him. His lower lip trembled, and his cries grew louder.

Kristoff almost smiled.

”This brat is getting naughty. He was perfectly fine just now.”

Nanny Celia raised an eyebrow. ”With Miss Isobel?”

Kristoff’s expression softened at the mention of her name.

”With Isobel.”

That simple answer made Celia study him more carefully.

...

Back at the Dalton Mansion, the nanny followed Kristoff into the nursery, and placed Alexander inside the crib.

Kristoff settled on a rocking chair beside the crib. He was rarely this relaxed. There was something different about him tonight—something almost contented. Whatever had happened at the hospital, it had clearly put him in an exceptionally good mood.

Once Alexander was inside, his crying gradually subsided. He grabbed the rattle beside him and began turning it over in his tiny hands, shaking it experimentally before dropping it and reaching for it again.

Nanny Celia watched him for a moment before speaking.

”Sir, may I ask something?”

Kristoff looked up.

”Why does Alexander seem so attached to Isobel?”

He leaned back against the sofa, looking down at his son.

”What do you think?”

Celia hesitated.

”Perhaps...” She chose her words carefully. ”Perhaps he simply likes her.”

Kristoff’s lips curved faintly.

”He likes her. That’s a fact.”

There was something almost amused in his voice.

But Celia wasn’t convinced it was that simple.

She had been one of Alexander’s caregivers since he was born. She knew babies well—their habits, their temperaments, the subtle ways they responded to familiar voices and scents.

What she had witnessed at the hospital was different.

Alexander hadn’t merely enjoyed Isobel’s company.

He had sought her out.

He quieted at the sound of her voice, reached for her whenever she moved away, and clung to her as though some instinct inside him recognized something his mind could not yet understand.

Celia’s thoughts drifted back to the briefing she had received seven months ago.

Alexander was Kristoff’s son.

Charlotte was his mother.

Except she had never carried the child herself.

A surrogate had given birth to Alexander.

Could it be her?

The possibility sent a strange shiver through her.

Could Isobel be the woman who carried Alexander?

It would explain too much.

The baby’s inexplicable attachment.

The way Isobel looked at him.

And the way Alexander seemed to recognize her despite having supposedly meeting her only a few times before.

Celia quickly lowered her gaze when she realized Kristoff was watching her.

His eyes had lost their earlier warmth.

”Just focus on taking care of Alex,” he said calmly. ”Don’t ask questions you’re not supposed to ask.”

His tone wasn’t harsh, but the warning underneath it was unmistakable.

Celia immediately straightened.

”Yes, sir.”

Kristoff’s gaze returned to his son.

Alexander had finally stopped fussing. He was happily chewing on the handle of his rattle, completely unaware of the secrets surrounding his birth.

A faint smile returned to Kristoff’s face.

He reached down and gently brushed a finger over his son’s round cheek.

Then he closed his eyes briefly and the image of Isobel appeared as silence descended into the nursery room.

...

The nursery door flew open, and an angry voice shattered the quiet of the room.

”Kristoff, how dare you take my grandson to that woman?”

Mary Dalton strode inside, Henry following close behind.

The sharpness of her voice startled Alexander. His little face crumpled, and a frightened cry immediately filled the nursery.

Kristoff’s expression hardened.

”Mom, you’re frightening my son.”

He pushed himself out of the rocking chair so abruptly that it lurched backward, rocking for several seconds before finally coming to a stop.

Celia quickly lifted Alexander from the crib and began soothing him.

Mary stepped forward and reached into the crib, pulling out a brightly colored toy. She shook it gently in front of her grandson.

Alexander’s cries gradually subsided as his attention shifted to the toy.

Only then did Mary look back at her son.

”Why did you take Alex to that woman?” she asked again, this time lowering her voice. ”You promised us, Kristoff. You promised that she would stay away from you—and from your son.”

Kristoff’s jaw tightened.

”Alex had his vaccination today. I took him to the hospital, and Isobel happened to be confined there.”

”Happened to be there?” Mary scoffed. ”And you thought it was appropriate to let her see him?”

”Yes.”

The single word came without hesitation.

Mary’s displeasure deepened.

”We already told you what we think about that girl. She has no family, no proper background, and no place in our lives. You should not be encouraging this.”

Kristoff’s eyes darkened at the words, but his voice remained controlled.

”Isobel saved my life.”

”And you saved hers,” Henry interjected. ”She was kidnapped, and you risked yourself to rescue her. Whatever debt existed between you, surely that has been settled.”

Kristoff turned toward his father.

”It isn’t the same, Dad.”

Henry frowned.

”What isn’t the same?”

Kristoff’s gaze briefly dropped to Alexander, who was now happily clutching the new toy in his tiny hands.

”When Isobel blocked that knife for me, she had nothing to gain from it.”

His voice softened, but his conviction only grew stronger.

”She could have walked away. She could have left me to die. Instead, she put herself in danger to save me.”

Mary folded her arms.

”You already shouldered her medical fees. Just give her more money. Don’t drag Alex into this.”

Kristoff looked directly at his mother.

”But if seeing Alex makes her happy, why should I deny her that?”

Mary stared at him, clearly taken aback by his answer.

Kristoff continued, his voice calm.

”I owe her more than you think.”

Henry’s expression changed slightly.

”You already repaid your debt.”

”No, Dad.”

Isobel’s image lingered in Kristoff’s mind—the quiet smile she had given Alexander, the way her entire face had softened when she held him, and the unmistakable tenderness in her eyes.

His own expression softened.

”It isn’t a debt I can repay by simply saving her once.”

For a moment, no one spoke.

Mary’s eyes narrowed.

She knew her son.

And for the first time, she wondered whether this was no longer about gratitude.