«You’re doing great,» Eloise would say every time I panicked.

But it didn’t feel great. It felt like walking on thin ice. One wrong move and everything would shatter.

On the fifth day, Detective Fatima returned with news. «We found Cynthia’s aunt,» she said. «She lives in a small town a hundred miles from the border. We went to question her.»

«And?»

«She hasn’t seen Cynthia in two years. Says they had a fight. That Cynthia owed her money. $3,000. Never paid her back.»

Money. It always came back to money with Cynthia. Louis earned a good salary as an engineer. $70,000 a year. He had savings. A $200,000 life insurance policy. Cynthia was the beneficiary.

«Did she collect the insurance?» I asked.

Fatima nodded. «Four months ago, $200,000 deposited into her account. Two weeks later, she transferred it all to an offshore account in the Cayman Islands. We’re trying to track it, but it’s complicated.»

$200,000. The value of my son’s life. And she had hidden it in some tax haven while planning to kill her baby.

«Why?» I said. The question that tormented me every night. «Why kill the baby? She could have given him up for adoption. She could have left him at a hospital. Why try to drown him?»

Fatima was quiet for a long moment. «There’s a theory,» she finally said. «We’ve been investigating Louis’s finances. We found something interesting. Two weeks before he died, he changed his will.»

«He left everything to his future children. Not to Cynthia. To his children.»

The air left my lungs. Louis knew. Somehow he knew Cynthia was pregnant. And he changed his will to protect his son.

«She killed him for money,» I whispered.

«We believe so. And then she found out the money would go to the baby if he was born alive. So she decided to eliminate him too.»

The sheer evil of it left me speechless. She had killed my son. She had carried the pregnancy to term. She had given birth alone. And then she had tried to drown her own baby. All for money.

«Do you have enough to arrest her?»

«When we find her, yes. But she’s still missing. She’s smart. She knows we’re looking for her.»

The days turned into weeks. Hector grew stronger. The doctors removed the tubes one by one. He started breathing on his own. Feeding on his own. Crying with strong, healthy lungs.

He was a medical miracle, according to the doctors. No baby who had been through what he had should be doing so well. But I knew it was more than medicine. It was willpower. It was Louis’ spirit living in that little body. Fighting. Surviving. Refusing to give up.

I completed all the requirements. The background check came back clean. The medical exam showed I was healthy for my age. The psychological evaluation was tougher.

A young woman with glasses asked me questions for three hours. «How did you handle your son’s death? How do you feel about Cynthia? Are you trying to replace Louis with this baby?»

That last question angered me. «I’m not replacing anyone. I’m saving my grandson. It’s different.»

She wrote something down. I didn’t know if it was good or bad.

The home inspection was humiliating. Two women checked every corner. They opened closets, checked the refrigerator, measured the windows to see if they were safe, counted the smoke detectors, asked about my emergency plan in case of a fire.

«You’ll need a certified crib, a changing table, safety gates on all stairs, locks on the cabinets, outlet covers.»

I spent $1,200 on baby gear. My pension barely covered my basic expenses. I had to use my savings. But I didn’t care. Hector was worth it.

The childcare course was the worst. Fifteen young mothers and me. They all looked at me like I was the confused grandmother who had walked into the wrong class.

The instructor was 25. She explained things I already knew with insulting slowness. «Babies need to eat every three hours. Babies cry when they are hungry or wet. Never shake a baby.»

I nodded and took notes, even though I wanted to scream that I had raised a son to adulthood. That I knew exactly what I was doing. But I needed that certificate. So I swallowed my pride and pretended to learn.

Six weeks after finding Hector in the lake, Aline appeared at the hospital with a small smile. «You’ve completed all the requirements,» she said. «The judge will review your case next week. If all goes well, you could have temporary custody in two weeks.»

Two weeks. After 42 days of bureaucratic hell, I could finally take my grandson home.

But that same night when everything seemed to be getting better, my phone rang. It was Fatima. Her voice was tense. «Betty, I need you to come to the station. Now. We found something. Something about Louis you need to see.»

I arrived at the police station with my stomach in knots. Fatima was waiting for me at the entrance. Her face was more serious than usual.

She led me through narrow hallways to an interrogation room. On the table was a cardboard box. Inside, I recognized Louis’ belongings. His wallet, his watch, his broken phone. The things they returned to me after the accident.

«What is this?» I asked.

«We finally managed to unlock his phone,» Fatima said. «Our technician worked on it for weeks. And we found something.»

She pulled out a manila envelope. She opened it and spread several printed sheets on the table. They were screenshots of text messages between Louis and Cynthia dated two weeks before his death.

I read the first one. It was from Louis to Cynthia. «We need to talk. I know about the baby.»

Cynthia’s reply: «I don’t know what you’re talking about.»

Louis again: «I found the pregnancy test in the bathroom. Why didn’t you tell me?»

A three-hour silence. Then Cynthia: «I wasn’t ready to tell you. I was scared.»

«Scared of what? I’m your husband. We’re going to be parents. This is wonderful.»

Another silence. Then: «I don’t want to have it.»

I felt like I’d been punched. I kept reading. My hands were shaking.

Louis: «What do you mean you don’t want to have it?»

Cynthia: «I’m not ready. I don’t want to be a mother. I want to travel. To live. Not be tied down to a baby.»

«He’s our child.»

«He’s a mistake.»

«Don’t say that. Please, we can make it work. I’ll help you. My mom will help us.»

«I don’t want help. I want my life back.»

The messages grew more intense. Louis pleading. Cynthia resisting. Until I reached the last exchange. The day before the accident.

Louis: «I spoke to a lawyer. If you decide not to have the baby, I’m divorcing you. And if you have him and don’t want to raise him, I will fight for full custody. I’m not going to let you hurt my child.»

Cynthia: «You’re going to regret this.»

Louis: «Is that a threat?»

There was no reply. The next day Louis was dead.

I dropped the papers. Tears streamed down my cheeks uncontrollably. «She killed him,» I said. «She killed him because he was going to protect the baby.»

«That’s what we believe,» Fatima said. «And there’s more. We checked Cynthia’s phone records from that week. She made three calls to a freelance mechanic. Carlos Medina. We brought him in for questioning.»

«And what did he say?»

«Nothing at first. But when we showed him evidence of the bank transfers Cynthia made to him, $2,000 the day before the accident, he started talking. He admitted she paid him to sabotage the brakes on Louis’s car.»

I felt sick. I had to sit down. Cynthia had planned everything. She had hired someone to kill my son. And she had made it look like an accident.

«Why would Carlos do something like that?»

«Debts. He gambled. He owed $15,000 to dangerous people. Cynthia offered him $2,000 immediately and $3,000 more later. He accepted. He’s now under arrest as an accomplice to murder.»

«And Cynthia?»

«We have a warrant for her arrest. For first-degree murder and attempted murder. But we still haven’t found her. She’s like a ghost.»

I sat in that cold room processing everything. My son had died trying to protect his baby. And that baby was now in the hospital fighting for his life because his own mother had tried to kill him too. The cruelty of it all was unbearable.

«What happens now?» I asked.

«We keep looking. We have her picture in every airport. At every border. Alerts in hospitals in case she tries to change her appearance. Someone will recognize her eventually. No one disappears forever.»

But I wasn’t so sure. Cynthia had proven to be smarter and colder than I ever imagined. If she had planned Louis’ murder in such detail, she probably had an equally elaborate escape plan.

I went back to the hospital that night. I sat by Hector’s incubator. I watched him sleep. So innocent. So oblivious to the horror surrounding him.

His very existence had cost his father his life. His mother had tried to kill him. And I was all that stood between him and a system that would see him as just another file.

«Your dad loved you,» I whispered to him. «He died protecting you. And I’m going to finish what he started. I promise you.»

Eloise showed up with coffee. She sat next to me in silence for a while. «I heard about the messages,» she finally said. «I’m so sorry.»

«I didn’t know Louis could be so strong,» I said. «He was always gentle. Kind. But in those messages, he was a warrior. Willing to fight for his son.»

«Love does that. It makes you stronger than you ever thought possible.»

She was right. I was feeling it myself. I had never considered myself particularly strong. But now I was fighting the system. Fighting time. Fighting a fugitive murderer. All for this baby.

The next few days were about preparation. I turned Louis’ room into a room for Hector. I took down the rock band posters. The soccer trophies. The college photos.

I painted the walls a soft yellow. I set up the new crib. The changing table. The musical mobile that played lullabies.

It was painful to dismantle my son’s sanctuary. But it was necessary. Louis was gone. Hector was alive. And he needed a space to grow.

Father Anthony came to bless the room. He sprinkled holy water in the corners. Prayed for Hector’s protection. For my strength. For justice for Louis.

«God has a plan,» he said. «Even if we don’t always understand it.»

«What kind of plan involves killing a good man and nearly drowning a baby?» I asked bitterly.

«The kind of plan that turns evil into redemption. Cynthia wanted to destroy this family. But look. Louis left a legacy. You found a new purpose. That baby survived against all odds. Evil didn’t win. Love won.»

I wanted to believe him. Some days I could. Other days, all I saw was darkness.

The court hearing was scheduled for a Tuesday. I wore my best suit. The same one I wore to Louis’ funeral. Aline accompanied me.

We entered a small courtroom. The judge was a woman in her fifties. Gray hair pulled back. A stern but not unkind expression.

She reviewed all my papers. The certificates. The references. The evaluations. The home inspection report. She read every page with painstaking attention.

Finally, she looked up. «Mrs. Betty,» she said. «I have reviewed your case carefully. It is highly unusual. A 62-year-old woman petitioning for custody of a newborn. But it is also unusual for a grandmother to save her grandson from drowning.»

My heart was beating so loud I was sure everyone could hear it.

«I have spoken with the hospital. With the social workers. With your references. And they all say the same thing. That you are dedicated. Loving. Capable. That that baby was lucky you were there that day.»

I felt tears welling up but held them back.

«I have also read about the criminal case. About the suspicion that the baby’s mother murdered his father and then tried to kill the baby. It is horrible. Unthinkable. That child needs stability. He needs love. He needs someone to protect him.»

A pause. Long. Endless.

«Therefore, I am granting temporary custody to Betty for a period of six months. During that time there will be monthly visits from social services. Progress evaluations. And at the end of the six months, we will review whether custody becomes permanent. Congratulations, Grandma.»

The gavel struck. And suddenly I could breathe again. I cried. Right there in the courtroom. I cried with relief. With gratitude. With fear. With everything.

Aline hugged me. «You did it,» she whispered. «You’re going to be able to take him home.»

Three days later, six weeks after pulling him from the lake, I took Hector home. Eloise helped me buckle him into the car seat. She explained everything again. How to hold him. How to feed him. How to spot signs of trouble.

«You’re going to be fine,» she said. «And I’m just a phone call away if you need me.»

I drove home at 20 miles per hour. Every bump terrified me. Every approaching car seemed like a threat. But we made it. Safe and sound.

I walked into the house with Hector in my arms. I took him to his room. I laid him in his crib. He looked so small in that space. So vulnerable. But he was breathing. He was alive. He was safe. For now.

The first few weeks with Hector at home were the hardest of my life. I had forgotten how exhausting it is to care for a newborn. The sleepless nights. The unexplained crying. The constant panic that I was doing something wrong.

At 30, I had raised Louis with youthful energy. At 62, every sleepless night left me shattered.

But there were also moments of pure magic. When Hector would grab my finger with his tiny hand. When he would stop crying at the sound of my voice. When he would open those dark little eyes that were identical to Louis’ and look at me as if I were his entire world.

In those moments, I knew every second of exhaustion was worth it.

Eloise came three times a week. She taught me tricks I had forgotten. How to burp him more easily. How to swaddle him tightly so he would sleep better. How to read his different cries. She became more than a nurse. She became a friend. A lifesaver.

«You’re doing an amazing job,» she would tell me every time.