The Surrogate He Discarded

On the fourth day of Isobel’s confinement, Richard finally came to the hospital.

He arrived carrying a bouquet of Juliet roses, a box of Belgian waffle crisps —her favorite, and a fluppy pink bunny almost identical to the one he had given her on her first birthday.

The gifts should have made him feel thoughtful. Instead, the moment he stepped into the room, shame settled heavily in his chest.

His gaze drifted to the two bouquets already resting on the bedside table. One was arranged in a crystal vase, the other wrapped in expensive paper.

Morgan and Kristoff.

They had come before him.

Richard’s expression darkened, but the feeling that followed wasn’t jealousy. It was something far more painful—the realization that while he had been absent, other people had been there to comfort her.

”I’m glad you dropped by,” Isobel said, offering him a faint smile.

Richard forced himself to look at her.

Her face was pale, and there were dark circles beneath her eyes. Even her smile seemed fragile, as though it took effort to hold it in place.

”I was busy yesterday,” he said quietly. ”That’s why I couldn’t come.”

”It’s all right, Richie.” Her smile grew softer. ”I understand.”

But he wasn’t sure she did.

Richard pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down. He placed the gifts on the table, a bouquet, some snacks, a stuffed toy—small tokens that could never make up for the days he had missed.

The screen of Isobel’s phone lit up.

His eyes landed on it for only a few seconds, but that was long enough for him to see the wallpaper.

It was a photograph of Isobel in her hospital gown. Beside her, laughing happily, was a chubby seven-month-old baby.

There was something familiar about the child. Something that tugged at the edge of Richard’s memory.

Isobel read the message, smiled, and began typing. When she finished, she placed the phone facedown and looked back at him.

Richard’s brows drew together. Something about the photograph felt wrong. He couldn’t explain it, but unease began to coil in his stomach.

”That baby...”

Then he remembered.

Kristof Dalton’s son—the infant he had seen at the orphanage.

Isobel’s expression changed. The smile vanished from her lips, and her fingers tightened around the white hospital blanket.

She had decided it was time to tell him.

Richard was family. He deserved to know about Alex.

”Richie,” she began, her voice low and hesitant. ”There’s something I need to tell you.”

An ominous feeling spread through Richard’s chest. The seriousness in her eyes made him instinctively want to stop her.

For the first time, he understood that there were some truths a person could spend years avoiding—but once spoken, they could never be taken back.

”The orphanage...” Isobel said.

She lowered her gaze, her fingers twisting anxiously in the fabric.

Richard had only heard about the orphanage’s troubles after returning. By then, the crisis had already passed, resolved by an unknown benefactor.

”Mama Rena needed a lot of money to pay for the deed last year,” Isobel continued. ”If we couldn’t raise it, the children would have been thrown out, and the orphanage would have been demolished.”

Her voice trembled. Tears gathered in her eyes.

”That was the only home I’d ever known. I couldn’t let them destroy it.”

Richard’s throat tightened.

”The donations from the brothers and sisters still weren’t enough to buy back the deed,” she said. ”So I took a job.”

Richard’s hands curled into fists against his knees.

He already knew, somehow. He could feel the answer approaching, each word tightening the invisible pressure around his chest.

”A job?” he repeated, barely above a whisper.

”I was offered money to bear a child.”

The room seemed to fall silent.

Richard stared at her, unable to breathe. His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

”Why didn’t you contact me?”

The question came out harsher than he intended, but beneath it lay panic—and regret.

”I tried.” Isobel’s voice broke. ”But you were unreachable.”

Richard flinched.

He remembered where he had been. Fiorenza. Closed-door training. No calls, no messages, no way for anyone to reach him.

At that time, he had considered it an inconvenience. A necessary sacrifice for his career.

Now the memory felt like a confession.

While Isobel had been fighting to save the only home she had ever known, he had been somewhere else—unaware, unavailable, and completely absent.

She unlocked her phone and brought up the photograph again. Her expression softened as she looked at the baby, her eyes filled with a tenderness Richard had never seen before.

”Alexander Dalton,” she whispered. ”I gave birth to him.”

Richard’s breath caught.

Then he slammed his hand against the table beside him.

The bouquet trembled. The box of waffle crisps toppled to the floor, and the pink bunny slid after it.

But the pain in his hand was nothing compared to the crushing remorse inside his chest.

He had brought her flowers because he had been too late to bring her help.

He had brought her gifts because he had not been there when she needed him most.

And now he had to live with the knowledge that Isobel had faced everything alone—not because she had no one, but because he had failed to be there.

Richard leaned closer and pulled her into his arms, careful to avoid her injured arm.

”I’m so sorry, Bel.” His voice cracked. ”I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

The apology broke apart as tears slid down his cheeks. He held her as though he could somehow make up for every moment she had endured alone, every fear she had swallowed, and every burden she had been forced to carry without him.

Isobel remained still for a moment before gently resting her uninjured hand against his back.

”It’s all in the past now,” she murmured.

But Richard couldn’t accept that so easily. The past might have been over, but he could still feel the weight of his absence pressing against his chest.

No matter how tightly he held her, he couldn’t erase the nights she had spent afraid or undo the choices she had been forced to make because he hadn’t been there.

He wanted to tell her that he would never leave her again. That she should have called him, that he would have come, that he would have given her anything she needed.

But every promise felt empty now.

So Richard said nothing.

He simply held her.

For a long time, his tears dampened her hair as he grieved for everything he had missed, everything he could never undo, and the woman he had failed to protect.

And Isobel quietly let him grieve—not because she needed his apology, but because she understood that some wounds hurt most when you finally realize how much time you had lost.