Ethan’s POV
I sat on the edge of the bed, holding the baby in my arms. My heart felt heavy. I looked down at the child, the one they said was mine, but deep inside… I knew something wasn’t right.
Delilah stood by the window, her arms crossed, eyes restless. She hadn’t slept since the package arrived.
“She’s been crying again,” I said softly, rocking the baby slowly.
“She’s not crying,” Delilah muttered without turning around. “She’s calling.”
“Calling?” I asked, confused. “To whom?”
Delilah finally turned and looked at me. “I don’t know. But something’s pulling me. I feel it.”
Naomi sat at the table with the brown package we received this morning. It had no return name, only a stamp from a remote island—an old orphanage that used to belong to the Moretti family. A place that had bee
