The Baby Who Wouldn't Stop Crying
Chapter 04 - The Baby Who Wouldn't Stop Crying
Ethan Vance had believed that grief was the worst thing that could happen to a man.
Then his daughter nearly drowned.
For eighteen months, he'd been living with the memory of his wife's death. Every time he entered their bedroom, he remembered the last conversation they'd had.
Isabella had been seven months pregnant, sitting beside the window with a notebook on her lap.
She was making lists.
Baby clothes.
Nursery furniture.
Names.
She smiled when he entered.
"Come here."
He kissed her forehead.
"What?"
She took his hand and placed it against her stomach.
Their daughter kicked.
Ethan laughed.
"She's going to be a soccer player."
Isabella smiled.
"She's going to be whoever she wants to be."
Then she looked at him seriously.
"Promise me something."
"Anything."
"Don't let this house swallow her."
He frowned.
"What?"
"Your mother means well sometimes, but she likes everything controlled. I don't want Grace growing up afraid to make mistakes."
Ethan had laughed.
"Mom can be difficult, but she loves us."
Isabella didn't laugh.
"Love and control aren't the same thing."
He remembered those words now.
Standing beside Grace's hospital crib, watching her sleep beneath a thin blanket, he wondered whether he'd misunderstood more than he wanted to admit.
Grace had been discharged after observation and returned home with careful follow-up instructions.
Her breathing was stable.
Her doctors were cautiously optimistic.
But something had changed.
Whenever Margaret approached, Grace turned her face away.
Whenever the nursery door closed, she cried.
And whenever someone dressed in a black-and-white uniform entered the room, she stretched both hands toward them.
Looking for Clara.
Mrs. Delaney noticed first.
"She's missing Miss Bennett."
Margaret turned sharply.
"Don't be ridiculous."
The older nanny lowered her eyes.
"Yes, ma'am."
But Ethan had heard.
That evening, he sat beside Grace's crib.
"Hey, princess."
His daughter watched him.
He offered her stuffed elephant.
She took it.
For a moment, she smiled.
Then the nursery door opened.
Margaret entered.
Grace's expression changed.
She began crying immediately.
Margaret sighed.
"She's been terribly difficult since the accident."
Ethan looked at his mother.
"She's a baby who nearly drowned."
"Which is why we need stricter staff supervision."
He frowned.
"We?"
Margaret hesitated.
Then smiled.
"I only mean that everyone needs to be careful."
Ethan looked back at Grace.
She was crying harder.
He lifted her.
She buried her face against his shoulder.
Margaret watched with visible irritation.
"You're encouraging dependency."
Ethan turned.
"She's eight months old, Mother."
Margaret's expression tightened.
"I'm aware."
"Then stop treating her like an adult who needs correcting."
Silence fell.
It was the first time Ethan had challenged his mother in months.
She stared at him.
Then said quietly, "Grief has made you very sensitive."
Ethan looked at her.
"No. Nearly losing my daughter has."
Margaret left without another word.
Later that night, Ethan entered his study.
He opened the drawer where he'd kept Isabella's personal belongings.
Photographs.
Letters.
A small perfume bottle.
Her wedding ring, which he'd found among the hospital belongings returned after her death.
At the bottom was her notebook.
He hadn't opened it since the funeral.
Now he turned the pages.
Baby names.
Nursery sketches.
A handwritten shopping list.
Then, near the back, he found something unexpected.
A page labeled:
THINGS TO DISCUSS WITH ETHAN.
Underneath were three short notes.
Margaret entering nursery without asking.
Margaret dismissing my concerns about baby-care decisions.
Need boundaries before Grace arrives.
Ethan stared at the page.
His mother had told him Isabella was becoming anxious before the delivery.
He'd believed her.
Now he wondered how many conversations he'd missed.
He turned another page.
One sentence had been underlined twice.
I need Ethan to listen to me, not automatically defend his mother.
His stomach tightened.
He closed the notebook.
And for the first time, he remembered how Clara had looked at him beside the pool.
Not angry.
Not calculating.
Devastated.
As though she couldn't believe he'd accused her.
He reached for his phone.
Then stopped.
He had already fired her.
Publicly humiliated her.
And allowed security to escort her from the house.
What could he possibly say?
At midnight, Patricia knocked on his study door.
"Mr. Vance?"
He looked up.
"What is it?"
She hesitated.
"Grace has been crying for an hour."
He stood immediately.
"Where's Mrs. Delaney?"
"Trying to comfort her."
Ethan hurried upstairs.
He found Grace sitting in her crib, cheeks wet, little fists clenched.
When he lifted her, she continued crying.
Mrs. Delaney looked exhausted.
"I'm sorry, sir."
"Don't apologize."
The older woman hesitated.
"May I say something?"
"Of course."
"Miss Bennett used to hum to her."
Ethan looked up.
"What song?"
Mrs. Delaney shook her head.
"I don't know the name."
She hummed a few notes.
Ethan recognized the melody.
Isabella's favorite lullaby.
A song she'd sung during pregnancy.
His chest tightened.
"How did Clara know that?"
Mrs. Delaney looked surprised.
"Mrs. Vance's wife had written the lyrics inside Grace's baby book. Clara found them while organizing the nursery."
Ethan stared at his daughter.
Then he tried humming.
Grace slowly quieted.
Her little hand settled against his shirt.
For several minutes, he stood beside the window, holding her.
And a question began forming in his mind.
May you like
If Clara had been careless enough to endanger Grace, why had she taken the time to learn the one song that comforted her?
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