The house was quiet when Evelyn slipped back upstairs.
Dinner was finished, the halls empty, the staff dismissed. For the first time in years, the Carter mansion felt like a home instead of a gilded cage.
She paused outside the nursery door, listening.
A soft whimper came from inside. Grace — her youngest — was stirring.
Evelyn smiled faintly and went in. The baby lay half awake, kicking the blanket off, her small face scrunching as she prepared to cry.
"Shh…" Evelyn whispered, scooping her up gently. "Mommy's here."
Grace's eyes fluttered open, and her tiny mouth rooted instinctively. Evelyn sat in the rocking chair, letting the baby nurse. The motion, the warmth — it quieted both of them.
She looked down at the little face against her shoulder and felt tears prick her eyes.
In her past life, she had never done this. Grace had been raised almost entirely by nurses and maids because Evelyn had been too busy sulking, too bitter at Alexander, too consumed by her own pain.
The thought made her chest tighten.
When Grace finished feeding, Evelyn gave her a quick bath in the warm water by the cradle. The baby blinked sleepily, her soft skin glistening in the candlelight.
Evelyn wrapped her in a towel, kissed her forehead, and whispered, "You'll never be alone again, my little one."
Grace fell asleep within minutes, her tiny hand clutching Evelyn's finger.
Evelyn lingered there for a while, just watching.
Then, quietly, she left the nursery and walked down the hall to her older daughters' room.
---
She found Lily and Emma trying to get into bed — or rather, trying to untangle themselves from their nightclothes.
Lily's nightdress was inside out, and Emma's buttons were mismatched.
Evelyn laughed softly. "What are you two doing?"
Lily pouted. "We tried, Mommy. But the buttons don't like us."
Evelyn knelt down. "Let's fix that, shall we?"
She gently turned Lily's nightdress the right way, then straightened Emma's collar, her fingers deft and tender.
It was such a small thing — something any mother should have done without thought — but it made her throat ache.
How long had they been doing this on their own?
How many nights had they dressed themselves while she sat in another room, hating the man who'd given them everything?
She'd blamed Alexander for stealing her freedom, for stopping her acting career, for clipping her wings just when she was rising.
But now, with her hands smoothing the fabric on her daughters' tiny shoulders, the truth burned through her like acid.
It hadn't been Alexander's doing.
It had been Hannah. And her parents.
They had struck a deal with Alexander behind her back — agreeing to the marriage only if he financed their company and let her career die. They'd told him she wanted to quit acting; they'd told her that Alexander demanded it.
Both sides had been lied to.
And she had believed them.
How easily they had turned her into a weapon against her own husband.
Evelyn's breath trembled as she fastened the last button. She looked at her daughters and thought of how badly she had failed them — how her anger had spilled onto them, too, how they had grown up learning to survive instead of to feel safe.
Emma yawned and leaned against her. "Mommy, you smell nice," she murmured sleepily.
Lily giggled. "Mommy, will you stay with us?"
Evelyn smiled through her tears. "Just for a minute."
She sat between their little beds, tucking them in, smoothing their hair.
They looked up at her — tired, trusting, so heartbreakingly forgiving.
Lily reached out first, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. "Goodnight, Mommy."
Emma followed, whispering, "We love you."
Evelyn's heart broke and mended all at once. She bent down, wrapped her arms around both of them, and held them close. "I love you too," she whispered. "More than you'll ever know."
When their breathing deepened and the room fell quiet, she rose, brushing away a tear.
She stepped into the hallway, closing the door softly behind her.
---
The corridor was dim, washed in moonlight.
For the first time in a very long time, Evelyn felt a strange calm — fragile, precious.
She walked into her bedroom, pulled out a silk nightdress, and slipped into it before stepping into the shower.
The warm water ran over her shoulders, washing away the dust of regret, the bitterness of old memories.
When she stepped out, the mirror was fogged. Her reflection shimmered behind it, softer now — older, wiser, alive.
She tied her robe, ready to sink into bed. Then she heard it — a faint buzz.
Her phone, glowing on the table.
She frowned, crossing the room to check it.
And when she saw the name, her breath caught.
Sienna Ross.
For the first time since she'd sent that message, Evelyn smiled — a real, radiant smile that reached her eyes.
Without hesitation, she answered.
"Sienna?" she breathed, her voice shaking with hope.
There was a soft pause on the other end — and then, her friend's familiar voice, warm and bright:
"Evie… is it really you?"
Evelyn sank into the chair, eyes filling. "It's me," she whispered. "And I missed you."
The tears that fell weren't the tears of guilt this time. They were of relief — the first fragile thread of redemption, weaving its way back through her life.
Outside, the wind rustled through the garden, carrying the scent of roses through the night.
Inside, for the first time in two lifetimes, Evelyn Carter wasn't drowning in regret.
She was beginning again.