Chapter 3 - The Price of Three Babies
Marianne Mercer invited me to lunch the next day.
I almost refused.
Maya insisted I go with a recorder in my handbag.
Edward offered security.
I declined both security men and accepted only Maya sitting three tables away.
Marianne chose Le Bernardin.
Of course she did.
She arrived in cream cashmere with pearls and the calm expression of a woman who believed expensive rooms naturally belonged to her.
“Lily.”
“Marianne.”
Her eyes dropped to my stomach.
“You’ve gotten large.”
I smiled.
“Three babies tend to do that.”
She ignored the sarcasm.
“We need to discuss their future.”
“My children?”
“Cole’s children.”
My jaw tightened.
“They’re both.”
“Biologically.”
Something about the word chilled me.
“What is the Mercer Children’s Legacy Fund?”
Her expression barely shifted.
“So you found it.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Why wasn’t I told?”
“Because it concerns Mercer assets.”
“They are my babies.”
“And Mercer heirs.”
There it was.
Not grandchildren.
Heirs.
Marianne folded her hands.
“Cole’s divorce was unfortunate.”
“You mean his affair?”
“Marriage is complicated.”
“He married Sloan seven days later.”
“I advised against the timing.”
I almost laughed.
How generous.
She continued.
“The triplets stand to inherit significant holdings.”
“From whom?”
“Cole. Eventually.”
“Then why create a trust before they’re born?”
“To protect them.”
“From what?”
She looked directly at me.
“Instability.”
The word landed exactly where she intended.
“My instability?”
“You’ve been through a great deal.”
“Your son caused most of it.”
“That doesn’t make you immune to emotional consequences.”
My hand tightened around my water glass.
“Maya tells me you interfered with my medical coverage.”
Marianne’s eyes sharpened.
“I ensured expenses were properly reviewed.”
“You delayed high-risk prenatal care.”
“No one denied necessary treatment.”
“They did.”
“For several days.”
I stared at her.
“Those several days could have mattered.”
She shrugged.
It was tiny.
Almost invisible.
But I saw it.
Something hot moved through me.
I leaned forward.
“You will never interfere with my medical care again.”
Marianne’s face hardened.
“You should remember who provides the resources supporting these children.”
“I provide for them.”
“With what? A freelance editing job?”
“I’m working.”
“Lily, please.”
She lowered her voice.
“Be realistic.”
I stood.
She caught my wrist.
“Sit down.”
I looked at her hand.
“Let go.”
“Don’t make a scene.”
Those words.
Again.
The Mercer family loved them.
Don’t make a scene.
Don’t embarrass us.
Don’t react to what we do.
I pulled my wrist free.
Marianne stood too.
“You cannot raise three Mercer children in Queens.”
“Watch me.”
“You’ll come begging within six months.”
I smiled.
“No.”
Then I leaned closer.
“You’re terrified I won’t.”
I walked away.
Maya joined me outside.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m furious.”
“Better.”
That afternoon, she filed for emergency enforcement of the medical provisions.
The judge ordered Mercer Systems to stop interfering with coverage and imposed oversight.
Marianne’s control ended.
But that was only the first battle.
Two weeks later, Cole requested a prenatal paternity test.
I stared at the filing.
Maya looked disgusted.
“He knows they’re his.”
“Then why?”
“Because if he publicly questions paternity, he creates doubt.”
“About me.”
“Yes.”
The tabloids picked it up within hours.
COLE MERCER QUESTIONS TRIPLET PATERNITY.
I vomited after reading it.
Not from pregnancy.
From humiliation.
Edward found me sitting on the floor of my apartment beside the bathroom door.
He had come to bring documents for work.
He did not ask permission before kneeling because I looked faint.
“Lily.”
“I’m fine.”
“No.”
He helped me sit against the sofa.
“Breathe.”
“I hate him.”
Edward said nothing.
“I hate that he can say something and millions of people believe it.”
Still nothing.
“I hate that the babies will someday find these headlines.”
Edward looked at me.
“Then give them a different archive.”
“What?”
“Build a life louder than the headlines.”
The phrase stayed with me.
The paternity test was completed safely through blood testing.
Results:
99.999 percent probability Cole was the father of all three babies.
Cole issued no apology.
Sloan posted a photograph from Malibu that afternoon.
Caption:
Peace is priceless.
I laughed when I saw it.
Then something unexpected happened.
A former Mercer Systems employee contacted Maya.
Her name was Grace Nolan.
She had worked in communications.
“I know Lily wrote most of Cole’s speeches,” she said.
Maya called me immediately.
Grace had files.
Drafts.
Emails.
Metadata.
Years of work with my name attached.
Not only speeches.
Brand strategy.
Crisis planning.
Investor messaging.
The foundation narrative that helped Mercer Systems secure key government partnerships.
I had always considered it marital support.
Grace saw something else.
“Cole used your work as corporate intellectual property without employment agreements or compensation.”
Maya’s eyes lit up.
I knew that expression.
“What?”
“We may have claims.”
“I don’t want revenge.”
“This isn’t revenge.”
She tapped the files.
“This is ownership.”
For the first time since the divorce, the story shifted.
Cole had told the world I was a dependent wife he had outgrown.
But paper trails told another story.
A woman whose unpaid labor had helped build his empire.
A week later, Langley Media offered me a permanent senior strategy position.
Helen handed me the letter.
“Not because Edward asked.”
I stared.
“He didn’t?”
“He explicitly told us not to hire you unless you earned it.”
I laughed.
“That sounds rude.”
“It was.”
Helen smiled.
“But you earned it.”
That evening I called Edward.
“I got the job.”
“I heard.”
“You knew?”
“I’m chairman.”
“Right.”
He laughed softly.
“You sound happy.”
“I am.”
Then a contraction hit.
Hard.
I stopped breathing.
“Lily?”
Another.
Then warmth spread beneath me.
I looked down.
My water had broken.
At twenty-nine weeks.
“Edward.”
His voice became instantly focused.
May you like
“What?”
“The babies are coming.”
