Eight months later, a tranquil, heavy winter snowfall was blanketing the rugged hills and ancient oak forests of the Yorkshire moors. Inside the Master Suite of the North Tower at Greystone Abbey, the monumental stone hearth roared with seasoned oak logs, casting a rich, protective warmth across the room. For fourteen grueling hours, Aurelia had weathered the mounting, agonizing waves of labor. Her skin was flushed and damp with perspiration,…
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