Chris’s hand rested on the little boy’s round head for a long moment before he finally stood and left the ICU.
“There’s still no match in the bone marrow registry?”
Chris stopped just outside the unit.
The door closed behind him. That tiny sealed–off space had been the little boy’s whole world for the past year.
The doctor’s expression was heavy. “The registry is updated every day, but there’s still no donor match for Richie.”
He saw the darkness in Chris’s eyes and felt a pang of sympathy.
Chris glanced back at the closed door.
Richie was the little boy’s nickname.
It had been a weekend. Compared with the autumn weather in other cities, Liono City had been especially mild and pleasant. Winter had been lying back in a lounge chair in the garden at Blackwood Manor. At the time, she was already six months pregnant.
There was no one else around.
She had her eyes closed, enjoying the cool fall breeze, both hands resting lightly on her rounded belly. Smiling, she said, “Baby, your nickname is going to be Richie. I spent forever coming up with that.”
Chris had just stepped out into the garden when he stopped short, a faint crease forming between his brows.
His kid was going to be called Richie?
It wasn’t exactly a great nickname. She had supposedly put that much thought into it, and this was the best she could do? Where had all that cleverness of hers gone?
Then, carried on the autumn breeze, he heard her clear, smiling voice again.
“With a name like Richie, you’re basically born rich.
“Oh wow, baby. You’re going to be a little money magnet.”
Her voice in his memory was bright, playful, and full of hope.
Chris pulled himself back to the present and said in a low voice, “Keep checking the overseas registries too.
“Yes, Mr. Xander.”
The doctor watched him walk away, and his own heart felt heavier.
He had been the one caring for Richie ever since the day he was born. If they couldn’t find a suitable donor, then Richie might not survive.


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