Chapter 4 - The Baby Shower Nobody Asked For
For an hour, Khloe stared at the photograph of herself sleeping at Tasha's apartment. The image had been taken from outside, through a window that faced a public sidewalk. It showed her on the couch with one hand over her stomach, vulnerable in a way she would never have chosen to share.
"Someone followed you," Tasha said, anger tightening her voice.
Khloe's first impulse was to call Derek and demand an explanation. Instead, she saved the email with its full headers, took screenshots, and forwarded it to the legal-aid worker who had agreed to pass concerning messages to the family-law attorney. Tasha contacted the bakery owner and asked whether the sidewalk camera covered the window. It did. The owner promised to preserve the recording.
When Derek finally called, Khloe let the phone ring once before answering on speaker with Tasha beside her.
"We need to stop this nonsense," he said. "You're making yourself look unstable."
"Your lawyer sent a photograph of me sleeping. Who took it?"
A pause. "Security. You vanished from a public event with Dominic Moretti. I had to know you were safe."
"You knew where I was because I told you I was leaving. You threatened my accounts. This isn't concern."
"Come home and I'll restore everything."
"I'm making arrangements through an attorney. Don't contact Tasha or her landlord."
"This is my child too, Khloe. You can't erase me."
"I haven't tried. I'm asking you to stop frightening me." She ended the call before he could turn that request into another argument.
The bakery's security recording showed a gray sedan idling outside at 12:43 a.m. A person in a baseball cap stepped out, photographed the front window and returned to the vehicle. The license plate was partly obscured by rain. It was enough for a clear report about unwanted surveillance; it was not enough to identify the photographer. Khloe insisted they keep those distinctions straight.
That afternoon, her attorney, Lena Park, met her in a plain office above a pharmacy. Lena was direct and unromantic. She reviewed the messages, asked questions about shared finances, and explained what documentation she needed before filing for temporary support and protections. She did not tell Khloe how a court would rule or promise that money could make Derek harmless.
"Do you have somewhere safe to stay?" Lena asked.
"For now."
"And a place for the baby if the case takes longer than you hope?"
Khloe's eyes filled unexpectedly. She had been trying not to think about the crib. She had assembled one in the nursery with Derek three Sundays before discovering the hotel receipts. They had argued about which screw fit the side rail and laughed when they realized they'd put a panel on backward. That memory was attached to the same man now sending photographs of her through a lawyer.
"I don't know," she admitted.
"Then we will work on what you can control this week. Not your whole life before lunch."
Khloe left with a written checklist, a referral to a local housing program and an appointment for the following Monday. Practical tasks didn't take away her grief, but they gave it edges.
At five, Vanessa called from a blocked number.
"I know you don't want to hear from me," she began.
"You're right."
"Derek is planning a baby shower on Sunday. At your house. He hired a photographer. The invitation calls it a celebration of family resilience."
Khloe stood still on the sidewalk. "I'm not coming."
"I figured. He says if you don't show, the guests will understand how difficult you've become. He wants me to arrange flowers and make it look like a surprise."
"Why tell me?"
Vanessa breathed out. "Because I watched him grab you. And because this isn't about a baby. It's a press event."
"You knew about the hotel rooms. You knew I was pregnant."
"Yes," Vanessa said. No excuse followed. "I did."
Khloe could not turn an admission into forgiveness. "If you have work records about Mariner Court, don't send them to me in some late-night anonymous message. Get advice and give them to the right people."
Vanessa went quiet. "I understand."
Khloe hung up, went to Tasha's kitchen and wrote a statement in her own words. It said she was living separately, that she had not authorized any shower, and that she did not consent to her image being used in Derek's development materials. Lena reviewed the wording before it went to the necessary recipients, including the gala organizer and the tenant association. Khloe didn't post it as a revenge announcement. She wanted the people with decisions to make to have accurate information.
Sunday arrived with a hard September rain. Online, the shower looked beautiful: a wall of ivory roses, a cake decorated with little gold stars, an empty chair beneath a sign reading MOTHER-TO-BE. Derek stood in a photograph beside the chair, wearing a solemn expression. Vanessa was nowhere in sight.
Khloe watched the first few seconds of a video, then switched it off. She had expected rage. Instead she was struck by the absurdity of a man throwing a party for her while refusing to ask what she needed.
At the tenant association's Sunday meeting, Mrs. Reed handed Khloe a hand-knitted yellow blanket. "It isn't fancy," she said. "And you don't have to come to a party to receive it."
Khloe held the blanket against her face. It smelled faintly of lavender soap.
The independent inspector arrived after the meeting. He introduced himself to the association rather than to Khloe and walked the building with two residents and a city safety officer. He photographed the yellow waterline, tested the exit bar and documented the pump's failed transfer switch. The immediate result was a written order to restore a usable second exit and address the electrical hazard, with a follow-up inspection scheduled.
It was not a grand victory. Mrs. Reed still had water-stained walls. The elevator still groaned. But the failure existed now in a record that didn't depend on Derek's willingness to admit it.
Khloe was folding the yellow blanket when Dominic's assistant called. "We've discovered an invoice for the replacement pump. Your husband's company billed us for installing it three months ago. The serial number belongs to a machine stored in a warehouse."
"How do you know?"
"Our engineer checked the supplier records. Mr. Moretti wants to meet the association with independent counsel present. He also asked me to tell you that you don't need to attend."
May you like
Khloe looked toward the stairwell and its yellow paint mark. "Tell him to bring a plan for fixing the building. The residents don't need another speech."
She had no idea that by morning the pump's invoice would vanish from Derek's digital project folder. But Vanessa, whose job required her to prepare investor packets, had already printed two copies. One sat in her desk. The other was tucked inside the unused gift bag from a baby shower that should never have happened.
