Chapter 1777:


    “With pleasure,” Henrik said, pressing his fingers briefly to the corner of his eye before taking it. He chewed slowly. “Delicious. Without a doubt — the finest cake I have ever eaten.”


    And he meant itpletely. A piece of cake offered by his great-granddaughter carried a vor that no pastry shop in the world could replicate.


    Adide’s smile widened as she heard each of them praise it, pleased in the uplicated, wholehearted way that only children can be. Sharing something good with the people she loved had made it taste even better.


    Henrik nced at what remained on the te. “The cake was already quite small, and with all that sharing, there’s almost nothing left.”


    “That’s alright,” Adide said cheerfully. “You said the doctor told me not to eat too much, didn’t you? This is just right. And seeing everyone happy makes me happy too.” She smiled, her eyes curving into soft crescents.


    “Don’t worry,” Henrik said, already reaching into the bags. “There’s plenty more. Enough for everyone.”


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    Warm smiles passed between them, and quietughter began to fill the room — unhurried and easy, the kind that belongs to people who, at least for a moment, have set their troubles down.


    A week had passed.


    Henrik remainedposed, but the other three Martels were another matter entirely. They had been restless for days, moving through the house like people who had forgotten how to be still.


    “Henrik, honestly — when are we going to see them?” Colette asked, her voice tight with barely contained anxiety. She hadn’t been sleeping properly, hadn’t been eating, and it was showing. She was convinced the stress was aging her visibly, and that worried her almost as much as everything else.


    “Patience,” Henrik said, unhurried as ever. “If we push too soon, we’ll ruin everything we’ve built.”


    “It’s easy for you to say that when you’re at the hospital every day,” Santos said, his pacing making him look like a man trying to walk off a fever. “The rest of us are going out of our minds.”


    Alban said nothing. He maintained the appearance of calm, but it was entirely a performance. He still hadn’t managed to get Gillian to ept any attempt to contact her, and the umted tension had been expressing itself in other ways — he’d been shaving every morning just to stay presentable, his beard growing faster than he could keep up with it.


    “Take a lesson from Alban,” Henrik said, nodding toward his grandson. “Look at him. Steady. Not letting any of this unsettle him.”


    Alban exhaled quietly. He wasn’t steady at all. He simply had no idea what his next move was, and announcing that would only invite questions about whether he’d made any progress with Gillian. If they found out he was still blocked, the conversation that followed would be unbearable. Silence was the far better option.


    Colette and Santos studied their supposedlyposed son for a moment and saw straight through it.


    “He’s not calm, Henrik,” Colette said. “He’s stuck.”


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