The sun shifted higher, painting the small room with a warmer glow. Ray wriggled slightly in the arms that held him, unsure of what he wanted — warmth, comfort, or just to be left alone.
The woman hummed softly, a gentle tune, adjusting the blanket around him with tender, careful fingers.
"You're heavier than I expected," she murmured with a small laugh — quiet, as if even joy might break him.
The man watched from the doorway, arms crossed loosely, his presence quiet but steady.
"Take it slow," he said. "Don't rush him."
Ray blinked up at them, trying to focus… trying to remember… and every thought twisted into guilt.
*I shouldn't even be here. I'm replacing someone. This isn't my life. And yet… they're being so kind.*
The woman leaned closer, eyes softening.
"Say mama. Come on, Ray… say mama," she encouraged, as if the word were a bridge she desperately wanted him to cross.
Ray froze, awkwardness washing over his newborn mind. *I can't… not that. Not yet.*
The man stepped forward, placing a steady hand on the table beside the crib.
"Nora, give him a break, okay?" he said gently.
*Nora…* Ray echoed internally. *So that's her name… my mother's name?*
The word didn't fit. It felt borrowed, like clothes made for someone else.
He wanted to speak, to explain, to apologize, but all that escaped him was a tiny, helpless sound. His fingers twitched without strength.
Still… he noticed how carefully they moved around him. How soft their voices grew when they looked at him. Every action held the same message:
**You're ours.**
But Ray's heart squeezed painfully. He wasn't.
*They don't know… They don't know their real son is gone. And I'm just— a replacement. An accident wearing his name.*
He stared up at them, trapped between warmth and guilt, between belonging and a truth he couldn't escape.
This… is my beginning,* he thought.
A beginning built on the end of someone else's.
The room dimmed as afternoon slipped toward evening, the warm sunlight fading into soft amber. Nora laid Ray gently onto the small cot, carefully smoothing the blanket over him. Her movements were slow, almost ritualistic, as if she feared waking him even before he closed his eyes.
"Sleep well, little one," she whispered, brushing her fingers through his hair.
Ray blinked up at her, eyelids heavy but thoughts restless.
Sleep… should be simple.
But every time he closed his eyes, the guilt pressed heavier on his tiny chest, like a hand he couldn't push away.
Nora lingered beside him for a moment longer, humming softly. The tune was unfamiliar yet soothing — the kind a mother would sing to a child she had longed for.
Ray swallowed internally, a discomfort settling in his heart.
I don't deserve this… not from her.
After a moment, Nora stood and turned toward the man by the doorway.
"Kael," she said softly, "your turn."
Ray's eyes widened slightly.
So that's his name… Kael.
Kael approached slowly, as though he were approaching something fragile. Or sacred. His expression was firm but uncertain — a man who had never held something so small, so breakable.
"Are you sure?" he asked Nora under his breath.
"He's… tiny."
Nora smiled gently. "You'll be fine."
Kael exhaled once, steadying himself, then slid his arms under Ray and lifted him.
It wasn't smooth.
It definitely wasn't graceful.
But it was careful.
Ray's tiny body stiffened reflexively.
Kael was warm — solid in a way that felt strange, unfamiliar. His hands were rough from work, his grip steady but trembling ever so slightly.
"Hey…" Kael murmured, almost to himself. "You're lighter than you look."
Ray blinked up at him.
He didn't know what to do.
Didn't know where to put the guilt.
Didn't know how to exist in the arms of someone whose real child he had unintentionally replaced.
Kael rocked him — awkwardly at first, then better, as if learning in real time.
"He's… quiet," Kael said softly.
Nora smiled from the side. "He likes you."
Ray wanted to protest.
He didn't like.
He didn't dislike.
He didn't know.
Don't look at me like that, Ray thought bitterly. Don't treat me gently. I'm not who you think I am. I'm not yours.
But Kael only held him closer, lowering his voice as if speaking to a secret.
"You'll be safe," he whispered to the child he believed was his. "I promise."
Ray's chest tightened painfully, and his eyes fluttered shut — not from comfort, but exhaustion.
As sleep tugged at him, a final thought echoed in his mind:
Why does kindness hurt more than anything else?