Chapter 5 Naming the Newborn "Punishment"

# Chapter 5: Naming the Newborn "Punishment"

Morning arrived with gray skies and a steady drizzle that matched my mood. I woke to find Damon already changed and dressed, cradled in Declan's arms as he moved about the kitchen one-handed, somehow managing to prepare coffee.

"You should have woken me," I said, running a hand through my tangled hair. Five days postpartum, and I felt like I'd been hit by a truck—surgical recovery coupled with new motherhood was no joke, even without the added complications of a resurrected husband and murderous crime family.

"You needed the rest," Declan replied, not looking up from our daughter's face. "And we were fine, weren't we, little one?"

Something in his gentle tone with Damon made my heart constrict. This was a side of Declan I'd always imagined but never witnessed—him as a father. In our early marriage, we'd talked about children someday, always as a distant future prospect while we established our careers. Now here we were, co-parenting in a safe house while on the run.

"Our ride will be here in an hour," he continued, carefully transferring Damon to a makeshift bassinet fashioned from a drawer lined with blankets. "We should be ready to leave immediately."

"Where are we going?" I accepted the mug of coffee he offered, noting he remembered exactly how I took it—one sugar, splash of milk.

"Maine. A cabin on a private lake, owned by someone the Donovans would never connect to me." He sat across from me at the small table. "We'll be safe there while my contacts move forward with building the case against Lawrence."

I sipped my coffee, considering. "How long?"

"A few weeks, maybe a month." He must have seen the dismay on my face because he added, "I know it's not ideal. Your maternity leave is only twelve weeks. But right now, our safety has to come first."

He was right, of course. But the thought of hiding away for weeks, cut off from my life, my work, my identity—it felt like another kind of death.

"Have you thought about what happens after?" I asked. "Assuming your plan works and the Donovans are brought down—what then? Do you just... resurrect yourself legally? Come back from the dead?"

"I've considered the options." His clinical tone suggested this was territory he'd explored thoroughly. "There are legal precedents for death certificates being vacated when new evidence emerges. It would be complicated, but possible."

"And what about us?" The question hung between us, loaded with five years of history and hurt.

Declan's eyes met mine, cautious but steady. "That depends entirely on you, Evelyn. I won't pressure you. I won't make demands. Whatever happens between us—if anything does—will be your choice."

His deference should have been reassuring, but it only reminded me of how much control he'd already exerted over my life through his deception. How could I trust my own feelings when they'd been manipulated for so long?

Before I could respond, Damon began to fuss. I moved to pick her up, but Declan was already there, lifting her with a practiced ease that surprised me.

"You're good with her," I observed.

A shadow crossed his face. "I've delivered dozens of babies in ER settings, but holding my own daughter... it's different."

"She needs a proper name," I said abruptly. "We can't keep calling her 'the baby' or 'little one.'"

"I thought you'd decided on Damien," he replied carefully.

"That was spite talking." I reached for Damon, who was starting to root against Declan's chest, clearly hungry. "And technically, Damien is traditionally a boy's name anyway."

He handed her over without comment, turning away slightly as I adjusted my shirt to feed her. The gesture reminded me of our first night in the safe house—his respect for boundaries even in intimate circumstances.

"What about Damon?" he suggested after a moment. "It's similar to what you chose, but..."

"But without the demonic connotations?" I finished with a wry smile.

"It means 'to tame' in Greek," he explained. "Someone who subdues, who overcomes."

I studied our daughter as she nursed, her tiny hand resting against my breast. "Damon," I tested the name. "Damon Carter."

"It suits her," Declan said softly. "Strong, like her mother."

"Why did you engrave it on her hospital bracelet?" I asked. "Before she was even born? Before you knew if I'd even choose it?"

He hesitated. "I didn't."

"Don't lie to me, Declan. Not anymore." I shifted Damon slightly as she continued to feed. "The bracelet had 'Damon Carter' and 'Welcome back, my love' engraved on it. That wasn't hospital standard."

"I swear to you, Evelyn, I didn't do that." His expression was troubled. "I arranged for a private room, extra security protocols, made sure I would be notified when you went into labor—but I never tampered with hospital equipment or records."

"Then who did?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But it concerns me. It means someone else knew I was alive and was expecting me to reveal myself when you delivered."

The implications sent a chill through me. "Someone working with the Donovans?"

"Or against them." He began pacing, his mind clearly racing through possibilities. "Either way, we need to be even more careful than I thought."

Our conversation was interrupted by a text alert on Declan's phone. He checked it, his posture immediately tensing.

"Change of plans. Our ride is here now, and we need to move." He was already gathering our meager belongings, his movements efficient and precise. "There's been a development."

"What kind of development?" I asked, quickly finishing Damon's feeding and buttoning my shirt.

"Lawrence Donovan made a statement to the police. He's claiming he received an anonymous tip about your whereabouts and wants to 'help' with the investigation." Declan's expression was grim. "He's positioning himself as a concerned citizen, but it's a cover to hunt us legally."

Within minutes, we were in the back of a nondescript sedan driven by a silent man Declan seemed to trust. Damon, remarkably, slept through the entire transfer, nestled in a carrier between us.

As we drove out of the city, I watched familiar landmarks disappear in the rain-streaked window. "How long will we be gone?" I asked again.

"As long as it takes to be safe," Declan replied, his attention divided between the road ahead and the mirrors checking for followers. "I've spent five years working toward this, Evelyn. I won't lose you again—either of you."

The cabin was more substantial than I'd expected—a well-maintained two-bedroom structure on a secluded lakefront property. Inside, it was stocked with everything we might need for an extended stay, including baby supplies and a small pharmacy of medical necessities.

"You own this place," I realized as I observed how comfortable Declan seemed navigating the space.

"Under another name, yes." He secured the doors and windows with practiced efficiency. "I purchased it three years ago as a contingency. No one knows about it except my most trusted contact."

"And who is that?" I asked, settling Damon in a proper crib that somehow was already assembled in one of the bedrooms.

"Better you don't know all the details yet," he hedged. "The less you know, the safer you are if we're separated."

"That's not how this works anymore, Declan." I faced him squarely. "No more secrets. No more protecting me from information. We're in this together now."

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded. "Her name is Katherine Shaw. Former FBI, specializing in organized crime. She's been working this case off the books since I approached her four years ago with evidence against the Donovans."

"Can she be trusted?"

"With our lives," he confirmed. "She's the one who warned me when Lawrence was released from prison, the one who's been helping me monitor their movements."

I absorbed this information, trying to reconcile the methodical planning with the man I thought I'd known. The Declan from before would never have had the patience for such long-term strategy, such careful maneuvering.

"You've changed," I observed.

"Death will do that to you," he replied with a hint of dark humor. "Or pretending to be dead, at least."

As evening fell, we settled into an uneasy domesticity. Declan prepared a simple meal while I tended to Damon. We ate mostly in silence, the weight of our situation making small talk impossible. After dinner, as I rocked our daughter to sleep, I found myself humming the same lullaby my mother had sung to me—a link to a normal life that seemed increasingly distant.

"You know," Declan said from the doorway, watching us, "I used to imagine this. You, with our child. I'd picture what our baby might look like, what kind of mother you'd be."

"And?" I kept my voice neutral.

"Reality is better than anything I imagined." His smile was tinged with sadness. "Even under these circumstances."

I looked down at Damon, now sleeping peacefully. "She does need a proper name. Not just for now, but for her future—when all this is over."

"Damon," he suggested again. "Not because I chose it, but because of what it means."

"What does it mean to you?" I asked, curious despite myself.

He moved into the room, keeping a respectful distance. "For five years, I've been fighting my instincts, Evelyn. Every day was a battle not to contact you, not to reveal myself, not to beg for forgiveness I don't deserve. I had to tame the most basic part of myself—the part that needed you."

His honesty caught me off guard. "And now?"

"Now I know that whatever happens between us, it has to be your choice. I've taken enough choices from you already." He looked down at our sleeping daughter. "Damon represents that for me—learning to tame my selfish impulses, to put your needs first, truly first, for once."

I considered his words, surprised by their resonance. "Damon," I said softly, testing the name again. "Not because it's what you want, but because it fits her. She is strong. She'll need to be, with us as parents."

Declan's face lit up with cautious hope. "So that's her name? Damon Carter?"

I nodded. "Damon Carter." Looking down at her peaceful face, I added, "She has your eyes, you know. That same impossible blue."

"And your determination," he observed. "Did you see how she fought against the swaddle at the hospital? Pure Evelyn Carter stubbornness."

Despite everything, I laughed. "She was just asserting her independence early."

"Like mother, like daughter," he said softly.

Our eyes met over Damon's sleeping form, and for a moment, I glimpsed what might have been—what still could be, perhaps, if we found our way through this labyrinth of deception and danger.

The moment was broken by Declan's phone vibrating. He checked it, his expression immediately serious.

"Katherine has news," he said. "Lawrence Donovan has publicly announced a reward for information leading to our location—a hundred thousand dollars."

"He can do that? Publicly?"

"He's framing it as concern for a missing doctor and infant," Declan explained grimly. "Claiming he wants to 'help bring them home safely' after the trauma of the break-in."

"So now we have bounty hunters to worry about too," I sighed, gently placing Damon in her crib.

"It changes nothing about our plan," he assured me. "We stay here, off the grid, while Katherine builds the case. In a way, Lawrence's public involvement makes things easier—he's exposing himself, getting sloppy."

I wasn't convinced. "And if someone finds us before your case is built? What then?"

"Then I do what I've always done," he said simply. "Whatever it takes to keep you safe."

That night, as I lay in the unfamiliar bed listening to Damon's soft breathing from her crib, I found myself thinking about names—how they shape us, define us. For five years, I'd been Dr. Evelyn Carter, the widow, the survivor. Declan had been a ghost, a memory preserved in the amber of my grief.

Now we were both becoming something new. Parents. Fugitives. Reluctant allies in a dangerous game.

And Damon—innocent Damon—was starting life with a name chosen not from family tradition or favorite characters, but from the wreckage of her parents' complicated history. A name that meant "to tame," given by a father who had spent five years taming his desire to return to his family.

"She'll be okay," Declan's voice came softly from the doorway, as if he'd read my thoughts. "We'll make sure of it."

I didn't ask how long he'd been standing there, watching over us. Instead, I said the thing that had been weighing on me since we arrived at the cabin.

"She deserves better than this, Declan. A life on the run, parents who can't even agree on what truth is."

"I know." He remained in the doorway, not entering without invitation. "That's why we need to end this—conclusively. So she can have the normal life she deserves."

"Is that even possible for us?" I asked. "After everything?"

"I have to believe it is." His silhouette was still in the dim light. "For her sake, if not for ours."

As he turned to go, I found myself saying, "You can come in, you know. She's your daughter too."

He hesitated, then entered, moving to stand beside the crib. In the moonlight filtering through the curtains, I watched as he gently touched Damon's tiny hand with one finger.

"Hello, Damon Carter," he whispered. "I'm your father. And I promise you, no matter what happens between your mother and me, I will always be there for you. No more disappearing. No more lies."

The simple sincerity in his voice made my throat tighten. This was the Declan I remembered—the man who could disarm me with his vulnerability, who felt things more deeply than his confident exterior suggested.

"She's just as stubborn as you," I said softly, an echo of a thought I'd had watching her fight the nurses' attempts to swaddle her in the hospital.

Declan smiled in the darkness. "With your brains and my stubbornness, she'll be unstoppable."

For just a moment, the danger receded, and we were simply two new parents marveling at the miracle we'd created. Not fugitives. Not estranged spouses reunited by crisis. Just a family, fragile and new, finding its way in the darkness.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new dangers. But tonight, in the quiet of the cabin, with our daughter sleeping peacefully between us, we had found a momentary peace in the simple act of naming her—of giving her an identity separate from our complicated past.

Damon Carter. A name that meant something to both of us, for different but converging reasons. A name that carried hope rather than retribution. Not punishment, but possibility.