Chapter 2 - The Letter He Couldn’t Command Me to Take Back|
Vincent Moretti had faced armed men without blinking.
He had watched rivals threaten his life across restaurant tables and answered them with a smile that made their bodyguards reach for their weapons. He had buried friends, punished traitors, and built an empire on the understanding that nobody made him wait for anything.
Yet standing beneath the cold hospital lights, he could barely hold a sheet of paper.
The nurse who had delivered my letter was named Rebecca. She had tired eyes, a blue scrub cap, and the kind of expression people developed when they had seen too much suffering to be impressed by money.
“Where is my wife?” Vincent demanded.
“Your wife is receiving emergency treatment.”
“I want to see her.”
“You’ll have to wait until the doctor says it’s safe.”
Vincent stared at her.
People did not tell him to wait.
His assistant, Daniel Cross, stepped between them before Vincent could make the mistake of forgetting where he was.
“Please,” Daniel said quietly. “Just tell us what happened.”
Rebecca glanced at the letter in Vincent’s hand.
“Mrs. Moretti asked me to make sure you received that. She was very specific.”
Vincent looked down at the final paragraph again.
I spent five years trying to become the woman you would finally choose. I kept your house clean, swallowed my hurt, defended you when people questioned our marriage, and convinced myself that if I loved you patiently enough, you would eventually love me with the same care.
Tonight, I stopped waiting.
If I survive, I will leave you. If I do not, my attorney has instructions concerning our child, including who may care for the baby and who must never be allowed to make decisions on the child's behalf.
You taught me that your word was law in your house.
I am reminding you that my life belongs to me.
Goodbye, Vincent.
He read the last line until the words blurred.
“Who is her attorney?” he asked.
Rebecca folded her arms.
“I don’t know. I’m a nurse, Mr. Moretti.”
“Find out.”
“No.”
The answer was so simple that Vincent looked at her as though she had slapped him.
Daniel caught his arm.
“Boss. Not here.”
Vincent pulled free, but he did not argue again. He turned toward the operating-room doors, staring at them as if he could force them to open through sheer will.
Then Rebecca spoke.
“There’s something else you need to understand.”
He faced her.
“Your wife arrived alone. She was frightened, bleeding, and in severe pain. She kept asking whether the baby was alive. She never asked us to call you until she understood how serious her condition was.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“Why didn't you call me sooner?”
“We called the emergency contact listed in her file. Your number was there. The call went unanswered.”
Daniel looked down.
Vincent remembered his phone vibrating on the table at the party. He had glanced at the screen and seen a hospital number. Sophia had been complaining about her ankle, and he had assumed the call concerned a routine appointment.
He had declined it.
He had even told Daniel to silence the phone.
A strange, suffocating pressure settled behind his ribs.
“Is my child alive?” he asked.
Rebecca’s expression softened by a fraction.
“Yes. Your baby is alive, but very premature. The neonatal team is monitoring the child closely.”
“Son or daughter?”
“A daughter.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
A daughter.
He had spent months imagining what it would be like to hold his child. He had ordered a nursery decorated in soft ivory and pale blue because he had not wanted to know the baby's sex. He had bought a handmade rocking chair and placed it beside the window.
He had also missed the first cry.
“Take me to her,” he said.
“You need permission from the neonatal team.”
“Then get it.”
Rebecca started toward the nurses’ station.
Before she could leave, a doctor emerged through the double doors. His surgical cap was still on, and his eyes were exhausted.
“Mr. Moretti?”
Vincent moved toward him.
“How is my wife?”
The doctor hesitated.
“We’ve managed to stabilize her temporarily, but she has suffered significant blood loss. The next several hours are critical.”
Vincent grabbed the back of a chair.
“And the baby?”
“Your daughter is extremely small. She is breathing with assistance, and we’re doing everything possible.”
Vincent looked at the doctor, searching for the promise he was accustomed to extracting from people.
“You will save them.”
“We will do everything we can. But I need you to understand that we cannot guarantee the outcome.”
Vincent’s hand tightened around the chair until his knuckles turned white.
May you like
Then the doctor added one sentence that stripped every remaining illusion from his face.
“Mr. Moretti, your wife specifically asked us not to let Sophia Reynolds anywhere near her child.”
