“My sweet boy,” Elissa murmured, gently brushing the sweat from his forehead. “The doctor will make it better soon. The pain will be gone, alright?”

“Mommy, don’t go! Please stay with me!” Locke begged, his voice trembling.

“I’m not leaving, love. I’ll be right here,” Elissa assured him, her tone tender yet unwavering.

Ernest rushed in, his steps quick and anxious—but Locke was nowhere in sight.

Instead, he saw Eric standing beside Savannah. He stopped in his tracks.

Savannah? That could only mean one thing—Elissa was here too.

He quickly gathered himself and greeted her. “Mrs. Brown.”

“Humph.” Savannah’s response was as icy as ever, her face etched with familiar disapproval.

Ernest didn’t take it to heart. He turned to Eric. “Where’s Locke? Did you tell Elissa? Is she with him?”

“Yeah.” Eric nodded, motioning toward the orthopedic treatment room. “Hadley invited Elissa and Mrs. Brown over today. We were together when you called, so I told her about what happened. She’s inside with Locke.”

That made sense now. Ernest exhaled quietly. Maybe this was for the best.

The whole way here, he’d agonized over whether to tell Elissa.

He had feared she wouldn’t believe him—that she’d think he was using Locke as a pawn to manipulate her again.

He had done questionable things before, yes—but never once had he been willing to risk Locke’s safety for his own gain.

Locke was his son. His flesh. His soul. The one being he couldn’t bear to lose.

He walked up and stopped just outside the treatment room.

The door wasn’t soundproof. With voices raised even slightly, he could hear everything from where he stood.

Inside, the doctor spoke calmly. “Ma’am, please have a seat and hold your child.”

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“Alright.” Elissa sat down, cradling Locke gently in her arms, positioning his injured arm toward the doctor.

Wearing a surgical cap and mask, the doctor explained, “We’ll administer a local anesthetic near the fracture. It may sting a little. Please comfort him while we do.”

“Understood,” Elissa replied, though her heart clenched.

No child liked needles, and Locke was no exception—despite how often he tried to act like a grown-up.

“Locke,” she whispered, “you’re a brave boy, right?”

“I am!” Locke’s wide eyes stared straight ahead. His lips were tightly pressed together. He was scared, but too proud to show it.

The doctor disinfected his small arm, then filled a syringe. “Alright, little guy. Be strong for me.”

He gave Elissa a quick reminder. “Ma’am, hold him tight.”

“Okay!”

As the needle pierced his skin, Locke turned his head abruptly and buried his face in Elissa’s chest.

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