Chapter 1773:


    Her own suspicion was that the Martels were trying to draw Gillian and Adide back into their family rather than separate them. But until they demonstrated that clearly — and until Alban proved that his feelings were genuine andsting — she was not going to hand either of them over. If the Martel household turned out to be a hostile ce tond, she refused to be the one who had guided them into it.


    “Alright,” Gillian said. “I’ll do what you say.”


    “Go and rest now. I’ll stay with Adide. When you wake, we’ll swap,” Christina said, in a tone that made it clear this wasn’t open for discussion.


    Gillian finallyy down, resolving not to sleep too long so that Christina could have her turn.


    The following morning, Henrik was up early, but he held himself back from going to the hospital immediately — Adide was still recovering, and arriving too soon would seem intrusive. He waited until close to noon.


    On his way, he stopped at the finest pastry shop in the city and bought everything he could remember Adide enjoying, along with an assortment of the shop’s most popr items for Gillian and Christina, since he wasn’t certain of their preferences. He held the beautifully wrapped box with particr care, as though it contained something fragile and irreceable.


    “Grandpa, let mee with you,” Alban said from the back seat, eyeing the box.


    “That won’t be necessary,” Henrik answered without hesitation. “Have the driver take me to the hospital. You see to your own affairs.”


    “But Grandpa, I have the right to see my—” Alban began.


    “No,” Henrik said, cutting him off with a look that left no room for argument. “You don’t. Not yet.” He held Alban’s gaze steadily. “Get Gillian to ept a message from you first. Then we can talk about rights.”


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    In Henrik’s estimation, Alban was nowhere near ready — not as a partner, and not as a father. There was still a great deal of ground to cover before any of that changed.


    Alban felt the wordsnd precisely where Henrik had intended them to. There was no deflecting it. If Gillian had epted even one of his attempts to reach her, they would already be talking. Instead, every one had been met with the same answer: nothing.


    “Grandpa, have you considered that I may have genuinely tried my best and still failed?” Alban said, the resignation in his voice unmistakable.


    “That,” Henrik said, without softening it in the least, “is your problem. If you can’t even get Gillian to respond to you, you can forget about seeing Adide in this lifetime.” He fixed Alban with a brief, hard look that carried the full weight of the warning.


    “Grandpa—”


    Henrik had already closed his eyes. “I need to rest. Wake me when we arrive.”


    There was nothing left to say. “Alright,” Alban replied.


    He turned toward the window and watched the scenery blur past, a slow furrow forming between his brows. How was he supposed to get through to Gillian? The question circled his mind without resolution until a dull ache had settled behind his temples. He drew a long breath and pressed his fingers against them.


    When the car finally pulled into the hospital parking area, Henrik’s eyes opened immediately. He didn’t wait for Alban, didn’t spare a nce back. He simply gathered the pastry bags, pushed the door open, and was gone.


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