The Surrogate He Discarded

The lounge connected to another ballroom that had been transformed into a magical wonderland for babies and toddlers.

The moment they stepped inside, they were greeted by a riot of colors.

Soft pastel balloons floated near the ceiling. Fairy lights twinkled among artificial clouds suspended overhead. The padded floor was covered with play mats, plush animals, miniature slides, and colorful activity stations designed for little hands and curious minds.

Adding to the enchantment were dozens of beloved mascots roaming throughout the hall.

Princesses twirled with delighted children. Superheroes posed for photographs. Giant cartoon characters wandered from group to group, waving, hugging, and entertaining the little guests.

Laughter and excited squeals filled the air.

For a moment, it felt less like a ballroom and more like a storybook come to life.

Seated side by side in their twin stroller, Kristoffer and Kirsten stared at the spectacle with wide, astonished eyes.

Everything was new. Everything was fascinating.

”A-gooo... gooo...”

Kirsten’s tiny hands flailed excitedly as she babbled at the colorful figures moving around them.

Her bright eyes sparkled with excitement.

Kristoffer, on the other hand, was much quieter.

Unlike many babies his age, he observed everything with solemn curiosity.

His dark eyes moved from one mascot to another, carefully studying the strange creatures that towered over him.

Although he remained silent, the slight widening of his eyes revealed just how captivated he was.

Even Isobel found herself forgetting the ache in her heart.

For the first time since entering the hotel, her attention shifted away from Kristoff, Charlotte, and the painful memories that haunted her.

Instead, she watched the twins. Their innocent wonder was contagious.

A familiar pair of giant mouse mascots suddenly approached the stroller.

Mickey and Minnie waved enthusiastically before crouching down to the babies’ level.

Kirsten immediately rewarded them with an excited squeal.

Kristoffer’s serious expression cracked into a tiny smile.

The mascots exaggerated their movements, making silly gestures and playful bows.

Both babies responded with delighted coos and bubbling laughter.

The sight was enough to draw a genuine smile from Isobel. She glanced around the hall and blinked several times.

One. Two. Three. Four...

There were so many mascots. Some of them had been her childhood favorites. Without realizing it, she let out a small squeak of excitement. The child inside her had suddenly awakened.

A wave of nostalgia washed over her.

Back at the orphanage, wealthy families occasionally sponsored birthday parties and Christmas celebrations.

Some probably did it out of kindness. Others perhaps did it for appearances, for reputation.

The children never cared enough to find out.

All they knew was that those days were special.

For a few precious hours, the drab orphanage would come alive with decorations, games, and laughter. There would be cakes too beautiful to eat and mountains of snacks and toys.

The best part was always the loot bags. Every child would clutch theirs tightly, eager to discover what treasures were hidden inside.

For a few fleeting hours, they were no longer children who had been abandoned by the world. They were simply children—running, playing, smiling, and believing that happiness could belong to them too.

The worries of tomorrow faded away, replaced by the simple joy of being included.

For children who owned very little and expected even less, those celebrations felt like miracles. They were the kind of memories that remained bright even after everything else had faded.

Even years later, those simple moments remained some of Isobel’s happiest memories.

...

Following a winding path between play areas, Isobel, Ella, and Anna eventually settled near a cozy corner of the hall.

An artificial tree stretched overhead, its branches decorated with tiny fairy lights that glowed like fireflies.

Beneath it sat a wooden bench surrounded by plush cushions.

Nearby stood several elegant teepees draped with sheer fabric, providing private spaces where nursing mothers could feed their babies or soothe them to sleep.

Compared to the grandeur of the engagement party at the other ballroom, this corner felt warm and intimate.

There were only a handful of infants in the ballroom. Most of the children were toddlers and even older.

Some crawled across the padded floor in pursuit of brightly colored toys.

Others toddled around on unsteady legs, clutching stuffed animals nearly as large as themselves.

A little boy proudly dragged a giant teddy bear across the floor while a little girl chased after a bubble machine with determined concentration.

Nannies and parents watched nearby, their faces filled with amusement and affection.

The hall was noisy.

Chaotic.

Everywhere there were shrieks of laughter, babbling babies, scattered toys, and tiny feet running in every direction.

Yet it was the kind of chaos that warmed the heart.

A happy chaos.

A lively chaos.

A chaos filled with life.

For the first time that evening, Isobel found herself relaxing.

And for a brief moment, surrounded by laughing children and the twins’ delighted smiles, the pain in her chest didn’t seem quite so overwhelming.

...

Suddenly, above the cheerful chaos of the ballroom, a baby’s piercing cry cut through the air. It was so loud and desperate that conversations faltered.

Children paused in their play.

Several nannies instinctively turned their heads toward the sound.

The baby’s cries rose higher and higher, raw with distress. He was crying so hard that Isobel found herself worrying he would exhaust himself.

Her heart clenched.

What were his nannies doing?

She turned sharply toward the source of the cries.

Across the room, a nanny dressed in a blue uniform was pacing anxiously with a baby in her arms. She rocked him as she walked, murmuring soothing words that clearly weren’t working.

The baby continued wailing. His tiny fists flailed wildly. His face was bright red.

The closer they came, the louder his cries seemed. Each sob echoed through the hall. Each cry struck Isobel’s chest like a knife.

She didn’t understand why.

There were dozens of babies in the room. Babies cried all the time. Yet this cry felt different.

It tugged at something buried deep inside her.

Something primal. Something painful.

She thought of the baby that she delivered after a long labor. She heard his first cry. It was also loud like the cry of that baby.

But it was brief and she never heard it again.

Kristoff took him away.