Chapter 2 - The Woman Beside My Husband|
“Claire!”
Vincent's voice followed me down the maternity ward corridor, sharp enough to make two nurses turn around.
I kept walking.
Madison Reed, my best friend since college, tightened her arm around mine. She was the one who had driven me to the appointment that morning, the one who had held my hand when the pregnancy test turned positive, and the one who had promised that whatever happened, I would not face it alone.
“Don't stop,” she whispered.
I didn't.
Vincent caught up with us near the elevators. His black suit was immaculate, but his face had lost its usual color. Behind him, Sophia stood beside a row of waiting chairs, one hand pressed dramatically to her chest.
“Claire, please. Just give me a minute.”
“You've had five years.”
His jaw tightened.
“This isn't the place.”
“You're right. A hospital hallway is a terrible place to discuss our marriage. So is our bedroom, apparently. So is our dinner table. And a restaurant seems to work perfectly well for you—as long as Sophia is sitting across from you.”
His eyes flicked toward the people watching us.
“Lower your voice.”
I almost laughed.
Even now, with an ultrasound in my hand and our marriage lying in pieces between us, Vincent was more concerned about who might hear than about what he had done.
“I want a divorce,” I said again.
He looked at the papers I held against my chest.
“Are you really pregnant?”
I said nothing.
“Claire, answer me.”
“Why? So you can decide whether this is another little thing you have time to remember?”
His face changed.
For the first time, I saw the words reach him.
Then his gaze shifted to Sophia.
She was no longer clutching her chest. She was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
Vincent stepped closer.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I found out this morning.”
“You should have called me.”
I stared at him.
“Yesterday was my birthday. I called you. You told me not to bother you. I asked for a divorce, and you told me I was being dramatic. What exactly made you think I would call you with news this important?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
Madison stepped between us.
“She needs rest. Move.”
Vincent looked at her as though he had forgotten she was a person.
“Madison, this is a family matter.”
“Then perhaps you should have acted like family.”
A muscle jumped in his cheek.
Nobody spoke to Vincent Moretti like that. Men who had threatened him in boardrooms had disappeared from public life. Businessmen twice Madison's age had stumbled over their words in his presence.
But Madison had known me before I became his wife.
She knew the woman I had been before every conversation became a negotiation over his schedule.
Vincent looked back at me.
“Come home. We'll discuss this privately.”
“No.”
“Claire—”
“I am not coming home with you.”
His eyes hardened for half a second. It was the look that made his employees fall silent and his enemies reconsider their choices.
Then he remembered the ultrasound.
His expression cracked.
“Please,” he said quietly. “Don't make a decision you'll regret.”
“I've regretted staying silent for five years.”
I stepped into the elevator with Madison.
Vincent put one hand against the closing door.
“Tell me where you're going.”
“Somewhere you won't be.”
I pressed the button.
The doors began to close, and I saw him standing there, staring at me as if I had become someone he didn't recognize.
Then Sophia called his name.
“Vincent, I really can't breathe.”
He turned instinctively.
It was a small movement. A familiar movement. The kind of movement that had decided the shape of my marriage for years.
I watched him turn away from me.
The elevator doors shut.
Madison waited until we reached the parking garage before speaking.
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
The answer came out so simply that I started crying.
She pulled me into her arms.
I cried for the birthday dinners, the empty chairs, the apologies I had accepted before they were even offered. I cried for the girl who had believed that being patient would make her husband love her better.
Then I wiped my face.
“I'm keeping the baby,” I said.
Madison nodded.
“Then we'll make a plan.”
“I don't want his money.”
“Claire, this isn't about pride. It's about making sure you and your child are safe.”
“I know who Vincent is. I know what he can do when he thinks someone is taking something from him.”
Madison's expression grew serious.
“Then we need a lawyer who isn't afraid of him.”
We had almost reached her car when my phone rang.
Vincent.
I declined the call.
It rang again.
Then a message appeared.
I have a right to know about my child.
I looked at the ultrasound photograph.
For the first time, I understood that leaving my husband would not simply mean walking out of a mansion.
It would mean drawing a line in front of a man who had spent his life believing every line could be erased.
I typed one sentence.
You had a right to be my husband, Vincent. You chose not to be.
Then I blocked his number.
Across the parking garage, a black SUV pulled away from the curb.
I recognized the driver as one of Vincent's security men.
He had been watching us.
May you like
And when I told Madison, she looked toward the exit and whispered the words that made my stomach turn.
“Claire, I don't think he plans to let you disappear.”
