“You were carrying triplets,” he said.
It was not a question.
Elena wiped her cheeks with the heels of her hands.
“Gary told you.”
“He said you lost a pregnancy.”
“I did.”
“Triplets?”
Her throat tightened.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Fourteen months ago.”
Caden’s expression did not change, but the silence around him did.
“How premature?”
“Thirty-one weeks.”
His jaw flexed.
The babies inside the diner were fourteen months old.
Elena knew the arithmetic.
He knew it too.
“No,” she whispered.
Caden’s gaze held hers.
“What hospital?”
“St. Augustine’s.”
“What clinic arranged the surrogacy?”
Elena stood so quickly the crate scraped backward.
“Why?”
“Answer me.”
“No.”
A strange look crossed his face.
Men probably obeyed him before understanding the command. Elena was suddenly aware of how unusual the word sounded in his presence.
“No?” he repeated.
“You don’t get to walk into my life, order my medical records, and start asking questions like you own what happened to me.”
His voice remained quiet.
“Those children called you their mother.”
“They’re babies. Babies say things.”
“Not those babies.”
The certainty in his tone struck her.
Elena looked toward the kitchen door.
All three had stopped crying.
She could not hear them at all now.
“What does that mean?”
“They don’t speak.”
She stared at him.
“What?”
“They make sounds. They laugh. They recognize names. But none of them has ever said a word.”
Until Elena.
The cold air seemed to narrow around her.
Caden took one step closer.
“They have rejected six nannies, two pediatric nurses, and every specialist I have brought into my home. They scream when strangers touch them. Sometimes they scream when I touch them.”