Isobel wandered aimlessly through the dim hospital corridor, one hand pressed weakly against the wall for support. The exhaustion from yesterday’s delivery still weighed heavily on her body. Every step felt unsteady, her pale hospital gown fluttering faintly as the cold air-conditioning brushed against her skin.
The silence of the hallway was suddenly shattered by an enraged male voice.
"What do you mean my babies haven’t eaten for almost a day?!"
The furious roar echoed through the corridor.
Startled, Isobel looked up and realized she had unknowingly reached the NICU wing.
Several nurses stood frozen outside the unit, their faces tense with fear as a man towered before them.
He appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties, tall and broad-shouldered with a powerful build that rivaled Kristoff’s. His sharp features were twisted with fury, while exhaustion and panic burned visibly beneath his bloodshot eyes.
"Are you trying to starve them to death?" he thundered.
"Mr. Foster," the pediatrician said carefully, maintaining a calm tone despite the pressure radiating from the man, "we already tried several kinds of formula milk, but both babies rejected all of them. They even showed allergic reactions to goat’s milk. If your wife could perhaps express breast milk—"
Crash!
A glass vase slammed against the floor, exploding into countless shards.
The nurses flinched violently.
One of them nearly stumbled backward in fright.
"My wife is in the ICU fighting for her life after delivering those twins!" the man roared, veins bulging against his neck. "And you dare suggest something so idiotic?"
The pediatrician visibly paled.
"M-Mr. Foster... I only meant that if you approve, we can contact mothers with excess breast milk—"
"Then why the hell didn’t you do that sooner?" he snapped. His voice cracked slightly this time, revealing the desperation beneath the anger. "Can’t you hear them crying?"
As if responding to his words, faint cries echoed from inside the NICU.
Weak. Tiny. Heartbreaking.
Isobel instinctively looked toward the sound.
Something twisted painfully inside her chest.
She was about to quietly turn away and return to her room when an idea suddenly crossed her mind.
"I... I have milk."
The hallway fell silent.
Several heads turned toward her simultaneously.
But Isobel only looked at the man standing near the NICU doors.
She didn’t know his story. She didn’t know anything about him beyond the rage in his voice.
But she recognized anguish when she saw it.
The man’s sharp gaze swept over her from head to toe. His brows furrowed immediately.
"You look like you’re about to collapse," he said coldly. "How are you supposed to feed my babies?"
His intimidating gaze made Isobel instinctively nervous.
"I-I just gave birth yesterday," she explained softly. "It’s normal to look pale after delivery."
Before the man could respond, another cry came from inside the NICU.
His expression darkened further.
He immediately turned to the pediatrician.
"Check her medical records. If she’s healthy, let her feed them."
The pediatrician quickly nodded and was about to leave when the man’s phone vibrated.
He answered immediately, listening silently to the person on the other end.
After several seconds, he ended the call and looked back at Isobel.
"Never mind," he said flatly. "My assistant will check."
Isobel blinked in surprise.
The man stepped closer.
"What’s your name?"
"Isobel," she answered quietly. "Isobel Lancey."
He repeated her name softly into his phone, almost as if committing it to memory, before slipping the device back into his pocket.
Then his sharp eyes narrowed slightly.
"Where’s your husband?" he asked. "And your baby? Shouldn’t you be resting in your room?"
The questions struck Isobel like needles.
Her fingers tightened unconsciously around the edge of her gown.
How was she supposed to explain that the baby she carried for nine months was never truly hers to keep?
After a brief hesitation, she forced herself to answer honestly.
"I don’t have a husband," she said quietly. "I was a surrogate."
The man stared at her for several long seconds.
"I see."
His expression remained unreadable.
His phone vibrated once more, and he answered it.
Then...
He looked toward the NICU before speaking in a calmer, measured tone.
"Feed them first," he said. "If they accept your milk... my lawyer will draft a contract afterward."
"What?"
Isobel’s eyes widened.
She wanted to refuse. Wanted to ask questions.
But another cry echoed from inside the room, trembling and painfully weak.
And suddenly, the words died in her throat.
The pediatrician gently guided her into a small private room adjacent to the NICU. Moments later, a tiny infant was carefully placed into her arms.
The baby was so small.
So fragile.
"You haven’t breastfed your own baby yet?" one of the nurses asked softly.
Isobel shook her head silently.
The nurse sighed with pity.
"That’s unfortunate. Colostrum contains important antibodies for newborns."
Isobel froze.
Pain quietly spread through her chest.
Her baby...
No.
Not hers anymore.
Swallowing hard, she slowly untied the ribbon of her hospital gown and carefully brought the infant against her chest.
Near the doorway, Mr. Foster stood watching anxiously, clearly trying to see how his child would react.
The moment he realized what she was about to do, he immediately turned away to give her privacy.
The tiny infant instinctively searched for warmth before finally latching onto her nipple.
"Aah—!"
Isobel gasped softly from the sudden sting of pain.
Mr. Foster immediately glanced back.
"Are you alright?"
Embarrassment flooded Isobel’s face instantly.
"I-I’m fine," she murmured. "I was just startled."
The man gave a short nod before silently stepping aside again.
Soon, the second baby was brought over.
"Use the other side for her," the nurse instructed gently.
Isobel nodded quietly and cradled the second twin with trembling arms.
During her pregnancy, she had spent countless nights watching tutorials about breastfeeding, imagining the day she would finally hold and nurse her baby.
But fate was cruel.
Now she was doing it for someone else’s children.
A sharp ache rose in her chest, but she forced it down immediately.
The babies were finally feeding peacefully.
She couldn’t bear to ruin the moment with tears.
Meanwhile, near the doorway, the man watched her in silence.
Carefully. Thoughtfully.
As though seeing something he could not quite understand.
And after the twins finally drifted into satisfied sleep, he straightened slowly and gestured for her to follow him.