Dear Ex-wife, Marry Me novel Chapter 1871

Fitch's bedroom had undergone a transformation, now filled with all the trappings of a child's sanctuary. The staff had been rotated, and new faces were all around, including a few nannies specialized in child care. He had taken a crash course in baby-handling from the nannies. The little bundle was soft and petite, astonishingly tear-free, and not much for babbling.

Fitch was constantly worried something might be wrong with him, so he'd had the boy checked out at the hospital multiple times. But the doctors said it was too early to tell, perhaps it was just the baby's nature.

A month later, one of the nannies, cradling the baby, struck up a conversation with Fitch.

"Mr. Haskins, the little master really isn't much for talking. Doesn't even cry when he's hungry. Do you reckon he's like his mom?" she asked with a hint of curiosity.

Nobody knew who the child's mother was; the nanny, being an outsider to their inner circle, was simply too intrigued by the baby's temperament and couldn't help but speak out.

Unnoticed, Fitch's expression flickered for a moment as he carefully recalled Zoey's characteristics.

Indeed, Zoey had been more silent than most women, bottling up her determination, rarely voicing her pain even in moments of intimacy unless it was unbearable—because she knew all too well that speaking out was futile. Zoey knew how to accept reality; once she realized her struggles were in vain, she would fall into a stark silence.

The nanny cooed to the baby with a smile in her voice.

"Little master truly takes after you, sir. Carved out of the same mold. His mother must've been quite the beauty."

That would explain such a handsome child.

She chatted for a while, but receiving no response from Fitch, she looked up. Fitch was staring out the window, his eyelashes casting faint shadows. No one could tell what was on his mind.

He looked lonely, perhaps even sorrowful.

The nanny immediately felt she shouldn't say more and simply continued to gently soothe the child.

When it came time to register the baby's name, Fitch pondered for a long time before saying, "Name him Nolan Haskins."

The clerk glanced up at him, then behind him.

"Where's the baby's mother?" she inquired.

Fitch stiffened slightly, his voice subdued, "She passed away. It's just us now."

A look of sympathy flickered in the clerk's eyes; the baby was so young, still nursing, and the mother gone—probably complications during childbirth, she thought.

She didn't pry further, simply checked the father's identification and registered the name.

Fitch stepped out, cradling Nolan, patting his back with caution. The baby rarely cried, often too much for anyone to handle. One night, Nolan developed a high fever without a whimper. Had Fitch not been awake to check on him, the baby might have gone unnoticed until it was too late.

Frightened by the incident, Fitch no longer allowed himself to sleep too deeply. His alarm was set to vibrate every hour, so he could check on Nolan's condition—only then could he allow himself to drift off.