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showed.
    With a sigh she got to her feet. ‘You see?’ she said to Alexis.
    He did not hear her. Did not see her. Saw nothing but the child curled into the chair.
    His profile was familiar from a dozen family photo albums.
    Himself. Himself when young.
    He could not move. His lungs were frozen, his body rigid.
    But emotion was knifing through him, blow after blow.
    Killing him.
    How long he stood there he did not know. Time had stopped.
    Stopped five long years ago when his seed had melded with the woman who now, the social worker had told him, lay in a hospital bed. Just in time, she had told him, to make it so much easier to take the boy into care—away from such an irresponsible and unfit mother.
    My son.
    The words repeated inside his head over, and over again.
    My son.
    Out of nowhere, overwhelming him, emotion poured through him. The fiercest, most overpowering urge to wrap that small, hunched body to him, to enfold him and protect him— always.
    It shook through him, and he knew it for what it was. It was unasked for, but it had come all the same. And he would, he knew, be in its power all his days.
    Slowly, very, very slowly, he started to walk forward, towards the little boy. At his approach the child tensed even more, his head turning fearfully. Dark, distended eyes stared up at him anxiously, his mouth trembling. Alexis felt his heart clench—with fury and with pain.
    He forced a smile to his face. He must not, must not frighten the child.
    ‘Hello, Nicky,’ he said slowly, speaking to his son for the first time ever.
     
    Rhianna stirred sluggishly, sleep draining from her. Her eyes opened heavily.
    She stared, confused. She was no longer in a hospital ward. She was in a room on her own. The walls were a soft pink. A nurse was altering the slats of the Venetian blinds over the window.
    ‘Hello,’ she said brightly. ‘How are you feeling?’
    ‘Where am I?’ Rhianna’s voice sounded faint and dazed.
    ‘You’re in the Sellman Wing of the hospital. It’s the private wing.’
    ‘Private? But I can’t afford—’
    The nurse smiled reassuringly.
    ‘Don’t worry—everything has been taken care of. Now, tell me how you’re feeling. You have a visitor, you know.’
    Emotion leapt in Rhianna’s eyes, completely obliterating the question of how she had come to be in a private ward.
    ‘Nicky!’ Her voice was a hoarse croak, and she started to try and sit up.
    Immediately the nurse hurried forward to help prop her against the pillows, easing her skilfully back.
    ‘Nicky?’ she echoed.
    Rhianna’s eyes were strained and wide as she steadied her breathing after the effort of moving.
    ‘My little boy,’ she said, the pain in her voice audible.
    The nurse stood back and shook her head regretfully.
    ‘I’m afraid not. But if you’re ready I’ll send him in. He’s been most impatient for you to wake.’
    She bustled out.
    Rhianna closed her eyes, desolation washing through her.
    Nicky—he was her only thought. She had to get to him, find him, get him back. She didn’t care if she could still hardly get out of bed, let alone walk, that her lungs still ached even through the painkillers, that her body still felt as if a steamroller had gone over it. She had to get home! Had to. Because how else could she get Nicky back?
    Anxiety laced through her, fretting in every cell of her aching body.
    The door started to open. Her eyes flew to it.
    Who was it this time? Who could possibly be so impatient to see her?
    The nurse had said ‘him’, so it couldn’t be that awful social worker coming to triumph over her. So who, then?
    As her eyes focussed on the man who walked in she felt for one sickening, hideous moment that she must still be asleep. Because she couldn’t, couldn’t be awake!
    Shock buckled through her.
    And horror. Deep, deep horror.
    As if through a hole ripped out of time a man walked into the room—from a past that came from her worst dreams, her sickest memories.
    Alexis Petrakis had