Florence gently stroked Charlee’s damp hair. Then, her weary eyes shifted to the tall, imposing figure standing at the foot of her bed. Spencer stepped out of the shadows. As the afternoon light hit his face, highlighting his sharp jawline and grayish-blue eyes, Florence let out a sharp, ragged breath.
"Arthur..." she whispered, confusing him for his late father.
"It's Spencer, Florence," he said softly, stepping closer. "Spencer Warren. Casey told me who you are. She told me you worked in our home thirty years ago."
Tears immediately welled in the old woman’s eyes. "Oh, Spencer. You look just like him. Just like your father." She coughed violently, a wet, rattling sound that made Spencer’s chest tighten. "I never wanted you to know. I never wanted to disrupt your family. But when I got sick... when the doctors told me I didn't have much time left... I knew I had to secure Charlee's future."