Chapter 7 - THE FLIGHT HE COULDN'T STOP|
At 6:15 the next morning, Claire left the hotel through the side entrance.
She wore a navy coat, carried one suitcase, and kept the ultrasound photograph inside an inner pocket where she could reach it without opening her bag. A car waited at the curb.
The driver helped her inside.
“Airport?”
“Yes, please.”
As Chicago receded behind the rain-streaked windows, Claire felt no sudden relief. She had expected freedom to arrive with a dramatic rush, perhaps a sense that the world had become brighter.
Instead, she felt tired.
Leaving a marriage did not erase five years of memories. It did not make the good moments false or the bad ones harmless. It simply meant she could no longer allow the good moments to excuse the bad.
At the airport, she checked in and moved through security. Her knee hurt when she walked too quickly, so she found a seat near her gate and opened a message from Ethan.
Apartment is ready for you. Temporary housing for the first month, close to the office. No pressure to start before you're settled.
Claire replied with a thank-you.
Then her phone began vibrating.
Vincent.
She let it ring.
He called again.
And again.
Finally, a message appeared.
Marco says you're leaving the city. Tell me where you are.
Claire stared at it.
She had not asked Marco to betray her plans. He had simply understood that the truth was no longer something she owed Vincent.
Another message arrived.
Claire, answer me.
Then:
You cannot disappear with no explanation.
She almost typed, I gave you five years of explanations.
Instead, she switched the phone to silent.
A moment later, a man approached her seat.
He wore a charcoal suit and carried himself with the polished confidence of someone accustomed to moving through restricted spaces. Claire recognized him as one of Vincent's private security contractors.
“Mrs. Moretti?”
She stood slowly.
“I'm not discussing anything with you.”
“Mr. Moretti asked me to bring you home.”
“He can speak to my attorney.”
The man's expression remained professional.
“He's worried about your safety.”
“Then he can respect my decision to leave.”
“Ma'am, he doesn't want you traveling alone.”
Claire felt the old pressure rising—the expectation that Vincent's concern automatically gave him authority over her.
She reached into her handbag and took out her phone.
“My attorney has been informed that I'm traveling. If you continue to obstruct me, I'll ask airport security to intervene.”
The man glanced around.
He knew better than to create a public scene.
“I'll report your response.”
“Please do.”
He stepped away.
Claire sat down again, her heart beating too quickly. She had never confronted one of Vincent's men without first asking herself what Vincent would think.
Now she was asking what she needed.
Boarding began twenty minutes later.
As Claire joined the line, her phone rang one final time. She answered before she could change her mind.
“Claire.” Vincent's voice sounded strained. “Don't board that plane.”
“Why?”
“Because we need to talk.”
“We had five years to talk.”
“Not like this.”
“You made sure we never could.”
He was silent.
Then he said, “Come home. I'll tell everyone.”
Claire closed her eyes.
“Tell everyone what?”
“That you're my wife.”
The promise arrived too late, and he seemed to know it.
“Vincent, you don't get to reveal me now because you're afraid I'm leaving.”
“I can change things.”
“You could have changed them yesterday. You could have changed them five years ago.”
“I love you.”
Claire's eyes filled with tears.
She did not doubt that he felt something for her. The problem was that his version of love had required her to shrink until she fit inside his fear.
“I loved you, too,” she whispered.
“Then come home.”
“No.”
“Claire—”
“I hope one day you understand why.”
She ended the call and boarded.
The plane pulled away from the gate while she stared through the window at the city she had called home.
She did not know whether she would ever return.
She did not know what Vincent would do when his anger cooled.
And she did not know why Isabella's death might have been staged.
But she knew the truth about one thing.
She was not leaving because she wanted Vincent to chase her.
She was leaving because she had finally stopped waiting for him to choose her.
Thirty minutes after takeoff, Claire felt a sudden wave of nausea. She reached for the paper bag in the seat pocket, then rested her hand over her stomach.
“Easy,” she whispered.
The baby was too small to feel her touch.
Still, she imagined the little life listening.
May you like
“We're going to be okay.”
For the first time, the promise belonged entirely to her.
