Chapter 7

Noah

I lifted my foot and accidentally stepped on a pink plush rabbit—round and chubby, pale pink, with long floppy ears. I picked it up and put it back where it had been on the table.

I’d bought that toy for Emma back in college.

That day, I’d been wandering through the mall when I saw her growing visibly frustrated at a claw machine. I stopped and watched her for a while, saw how hard she was trying. She came so close so many times, but the toy always slipped and fell.

A faint smirk tugged at my mouth as I walked over to the token machine.

“Need some help?” I asked.

She turned around, eyes widening when she saw me.

“No,” she said. “I’m just killing time.”

I raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “All right. Mind if I give it a try?” I said casually.

She nodded. “Sure.” Then she stepped aside to let me play.

I dropped in a token and won the plush toy she’d been chasing—with a single try.

“Wow!” she exclaimed.

I bent down, picked up the toy, and handed it to her. “It’s ugly. I don’t like it. You can have it,” I said indifferently.

“It’s not ugly at all. It’s really cute,” she said, stroking the toy. “Are you sure you don’t want it?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t suit me,” I replied, trying to convince her.

She smiled. “Then I’ll keep it. Thank you.”

My interactions with Emma had always been like that—few and far between. She refused everything I tried to give her, but I always found excuses that left her no choice but to accept.

I knew how much she liked that toy, which was why I was genuinely shocked when she returned it to me.

When my sister handed me the package Emma had mailed back, something twisted painfully in my chest. The timing couldn’t have been worse. My father and I had been in the middle of a heated argument. I’d come home on holiday, and he insisted I give up my studies in the UK and take over as CEO of the family business.

That only strengthened my resolve to become a doctor.

Especially after my brother Lucas started working at the company and openly stated that he wanted the CEO position. I didn’t want to compete with him. We had a good relationship, and I didn’t want business rivalry to destroy it.

While driving to the hospital one day, a little girl suddenly ran out in front of my car. I slammed on the brakes.

I jumped out immediately and rushed over to her. She looked up at me in terror, clutching a small puppy in her arms.

I knelt down and asked gently, “Are you hurt?”

I carefully lifted her up to check her for injuries. She seemed fine—just a few scrapes and bruises on her palms from breaking her fall.

Shaking her head, she continued holding the puppy tightly. “I’m fine, Dr. Morgan. But could you please check if the puppy is hurt?” she asked, looking at me pleadingly.

I frowned.

She looked familiar.

“Hannah,” I murmured to myself.

I remembered her. She’d come to me for consultations before, though our schedules rarely aligned—I often saw her and her mother seeing other doctors instead.

“You’re only worried about the dog?” I couldn’t help scolding her. “Do you realize how dangerous that was? If I hadn’t braked in time, you could’ve been hit by my car.”

I looked around, wondering who she was with and why her guardian would allow her to dash out like that.

Hannah bit her lip, about to speak, when a woman shouted her name.

“Hannah!”

I turned and saw a woman running toward her. She wrapped Hannah tightly in her arms, clearly relieved once she realized her daughter was unharmed.

“Mom, I’m fine—and the puppy is fine too,” Hannah said, showing her the dog.

Her mother noticed the bruises on Hannah’s palms. As she hugged her again, a tear slid down her cheek.

She looked up at me, her face pale, still visibly shaken. I understood her reaction—any parent would be terrified to learn their child had nearly been hit by a car.

She seemed to want to say something, but hesitated. Maybe she was afraid I’d scold her too.

I spoke immediately, softening my tone. “Ms. Evans, there’s no need to be nervous. I don’t mean any harm. If I really did something wrong, I hope you’ll tell me directly.”

She bit her lip but didn’t respond.

I stepped a little closer, lowering my voice. “Ms. Evans… have we really never met before?”

She shook her head at once. “We’ve only met at the hospital—and at Battery Park.”

I studied her for a few seconds. When I saw no hesitation in her expression, I nodded and opened my car door.

“Get in. Let’s go. I’ll take you and your daughter to the hospital for a checkup.”

“No… that’s not necessary. I don’t want to trouble you. I can take her myself,” she refused firmly.

I frowned. There was something odd about her reaction. Normally, parents in situations like this would insist on going to the hospital—and hold the driver responsible.

“I’m a doctor,” I said firmly. “A lot of accident victims look fine on the surface, but have dangerous internal injuries. If anything happens, I’ll take responsibility.”

“Hannah is my patient,” I added.

Still hesitant, she had no real choice. She got into the car with Hannah and the puppy, sitting in the back seat.

I glanced at Hannah’s mother. She looked much younger than her actual age—certainly not like the mother of a six-year-old. Her skin was very fair, even more so in the blue dress she was wearing. There was something inexplicably familiar about her, especially when I looked into her light brown eyes.

After we arrived at the hospital, I asked a nurse to assist Hannah with a series of tests.

She needed chest and abdominal CT scans. Since she was under my care, I accompanied her into the CT room.

“Dr. Morgan, your daughter looks exactly like you,” one doctor joked.

“What?!” I exclaimed in shock. “She’s not my daughter.”

“Sorry, but you two really do look like father and daughter,” the doctor said, puzzled.

Ms. Evans spoke up immediately. “You’re mistaken. Hannah’s father passed away a long time ago.”

Passed away?

I looked at Ms. Evans, a deep sense of loss flashing through me. Just moments ago, a part of me had hoped Hannah might be my daughter. But Emma was gone—no one could be carrying my child.

Because after her, I hadn’t slept with any woman.

I turned back to Ms. Evans. She looked tense.

“There’s radiation in here,” I said gently. “You can wait outside. I’ll stay with her. Don’t worry.”

She nodded and stepped out.

As Hannah underwent the scans, whispers drifted around us.

“Who’s the little girl with Dr. Morgan?”

“Is she his girlfriend’s child?”

“Is that Dr. Morgan’s type?”

“I don’t think so. Didn’t he say when he rejected Ava that he liked women with big breasts, fair skin, and long legs?”

“Really? I didn’t know Dr. Morgan had such crude tastes.”

“Most men do. Remember how much Ava did just to work in the same department as him—and how she completely lost it when he rejected her?”

“We should stop speculating. She’s probably just a relative. The girl looks about five or six, and Dr. Morgan is nearly thirty. It’s unlikely she’s his child.”

Hearing them whisper while Hannah was being examined, I could only shake my head. There was no point explaining anything.

The tests took several hours. Fortunately, everything came back normal—only bruises on her palms and knees bore witness to the accident. Knowing my young patient was truly fine, I finally felt relieved.

“Thank you for your help, Dr. Morgan,” Ms. Evans said.

I handed her a business card. “This is my card. If Hannah needs anything, contact me anytime.”

She looked conflicted, so I added, “Hannah’s condition means emergencies can happen at any time.”

“Thank you, Dr. Morgan,” she said at last, taking the card.

I watched her walk away. For a moment, her silhouette overlapped with Emma’s in my mind.

Was she really not Emma?

I had to find out.

I immediately asked William to help me hire a private investigator.