Chapter 44 Noah
The second I step outside, the sun hits me, and I almost don’t recognize the feeling. It’s warm, familiar, and....better. But it’s more than just the sun. There’s something that’s just different out here. Not as sterile, not as cold as the walls inside. It’s the tiniest shift, but it makes a difference.
Michael stays close, but he’s pretending like he isn’t. Like he’s casually walking beside me, like this isn’t the same guy who’s been holding my hand like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to this world. He’s hovering. I can feel it. It’s like he wants to be near, in case I suddenly collapse or something. The thought makes a shiver run down my spine, a kind of cold panic seizing my chest. I hope it never gets to that point.
I won’t let it....
The garden is beautiful, the kind of space that seems to heal just by being there. There are rows of flowers blooming in shades of soft lavender and coral, surrounded by manicured grass and neat hedges. A fountain trickles nearby. A couple of other patients are scattered around, some with company, others alone. It’s quiet and peaceful, almost too peaceful.
Like it’s pretending everything is fine.
We make our way to a bench under a tree, I sit down but Michael doesn’t. I frown, watching him as he plucks a rose from a nearby bush, then walks back to me with it in hand.
I raise an eyebrow as he hands it to me, and I take it, twirling it between my fingers, looking at the soft petals, the deep red of the bloom. I smile, almost reluctantly. "You just destroyed hospital property."
He holds my gaze, steady and sure. “It was worth it.” He pauses for a beat before adding, “Plus you should see what they charge at the canteen, it's highway robbery!”
I hold the rose to my nose as he sits down next to me, inhaling its delicate scent. My gaze drifts, and I spot an old couple walking by, their arms linked. They don’t rush, just move in time with each other, like they’ve done this a thousand times before. She’s leaning into him, her head tucked slightly against his shoulder, and his hand is firmly clasped around hers. It's as though the world doesn’t exist beyond their shared space.
"If it’s any consolation," Michael suddenly says when I've been staring too long, his voice light and teasing, "...they probably secretly hate each other. Chances are, they fell out of love like fifteen years ago but stayed together because they were too used to each other and have a profound fear of change."
I frown, dropping the flower from my nose and turning to him, the judgment forming naturally on my face. I’m about to say something sharp, but then I catch the look on his face. I scoff, shaking my head.
“You’re trying to distract me, ” I say, the edge in my voice more playful than I mean. “You’re demeaning that poor old couple’s love to make me feel better, aren’t you?”
He smiles, a guilty little thing, and I almost see the flicker of a shrug before he drops it. “Maybe," he admits, eyes dancing with mischief, but his voice lowers, more serious now. "Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone else?”
I blink, caught off guard by the shift in tone. There's an unspoken weight behind his words, and I don't know why, but I nod. “Sure.”
He takes a slow breath, and for a second, I can tell he’s trying to figure out how to say it. I don't rush him.
“I was adopted when I was really young,” he finally says quietly, as if testing the sound of it. “By Joanne and Cyrus Foster.....the owners of Knight and Rowe.” His eyes flicker to mine, searching for some reaction, but all I can do is stare, momentarily frozen. The name hits me, I almost don’t know how to process it.
"Wait... really?" I ask, trying to grasp the revelation. He nods, that same quiet intensity in his eyes.
“That’s where you–”
"Yeah," he cuts in softly, “It’s where I work. Good old fashioned nepotism." He smirks, but there's something more in his voice, something that isn't entirely playful.
I turn towards him a little more, slower than usual, my energy still low, but my curiosity piqued. "You were adopted?"
He nods again, his gaze dropping to his hands for a brief moment. "I was four," he steadily says, but I can hear a faint tremor under it. "I was in this orphanage... smaller than most. Not like the big ones you imagine. It was quieter, I guess. Less chaos."
He pauses for a beat, a dry chuckle escaping him. I don’t say anything, just wait for him to continue. His eyes shift straight ahead as he speaks, distant for a moment. "My name used to be Noah," he adds, the words sounding like they’re from a place buried far beneath the surface. It feels strange hearing him say it, like I’m learning something private, something he never speaks about. "They changed it during the adoption process."
"Why?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper, as if the answer could shatter something fragile between us.
He shifts slightly, the weight of his words evident in the way his shoulders fall. "My mum..." He stops for a second, swallowing before continuing. "She'd always wanted kids but couldn’t have any. She had this vision, though. If it was a boy, he’d be named Michael. If it was a girl, she’d be named Emma."
He pauses again, his gaze wandering, lost in the memory. "I remember, just a bit, her asking me if I was okay with the name Michael... she looked so hopeful, like her whole world depended on my answer. So I said yes."
He goes on, voice softer now. "I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately... Noah." He gives me a half-smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Truth is, I really liked the name Noah. I liked the orphanage, too," he confesses quietly. "I know it sounds weird, but... I had friends. I remember playing with them. There was this girl, a bit older than me. She used to play pretend with me. Always used me as her son in those games. She’d say my name when she’d pretend to scold me, ‘Noah,’ and I liked it. Noah was happy."
I can hear the sorrow in his tone, even though he’s trying to hide it. "Lately, I’ve been wondering what he'd be doing now, if he hadn’t changed into Michael." He shakes his head, almost regretfully, as if the thought itself is dangerous.
"But then I feel guilty and ungrateful for even thinking that. Because... I mean, I was saved, right? No one wants to stay stuck in an orphanage. The goal is always to find a family, and I did. I was adopted. But also, the second I agreed to be Michael, I stopped being Noah. It's like I became someone else entirely, and now it feels like Noah's still lost somewhere, forgotten. And I’m stuck here, trying to figure out who I really am. Because this life I’ve built, it doesn’t feel like it belongs to me, not entirely. It’s like I’m living in someone else’s skin.”