Chapter 2 - The fact that Malcolm had described his request as something he might do before Victor even made it.
“I’ll write it.”
“And Victor?”
“Yes?”
“If you want her to speak to you, don’t begin by explaining why she should have stayed.”
Victor looked down at his hands.
“What should I say?”
“The truth.”
After the call ended, Victor opened the notes app on his phone.
He typed:
I will not follow you.
He erased it.
It sounded cold.
He tried again.
I know you left because you were afraid I would use my power to bring you back.
He erased that too.
He did not know if she was afraid of that.
He only knew she had reason to doubt him.
At last, he wrote:
Nora, I will not look for you without your permission.
I will not send anyone to find you, and I will not interfere with the people helping you.
I will not ask for the children to be brought to me until you believe it is safe and appropriate.
I am sorry for what I have done, and I understand that an apology does not require you to forgive me.
When you are ready, I will listen.
He read it three times.
Then he sent it to Dr.
Bell.
The reply came six minutes later.
Thank you.
Now wait.
Waiting had never been part of Victor’s skill set.
He showered, changed his shirt, and made coffee he did not drink.
At 7:20, he called his office and canceled every meeting.
At 7:45, he called Sylvia.
She answered with a sleepy voice.
“Victor?”
“Did you know Nora was leaving?”
The silence on the line was immediate.
“No.”
“Did you know she was considering it?”
“No.”
He believed her.
That surprised him.
“I’m sorry,” Sylvia said.
He looked at the snow gathering on the balcony rail.
“Don’t be.”
“I should have known you weren’t free to give me anything real.”
“You should have known I was married.”
“I did.”
The shame in her voice was not performative.
It was tired.
Victor sat at the kitchen island.
“There won’t be any more meetings.”
“I understand.”
“No.
You don’t.”
“I probably understand more than you think.”
He said nothing.
Sylvia continued, “You kept talking about your family as if they were an obligation you were trying to survive.
I thought eventually you would choose a different life.
I didn’t know you had already chosen one and were simply neglecting it.”
Victor flinched.
She had a way of making truth sound less like a weapon than a mirror.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You should tell Nora that.”
“I did.”
“Then mean it.”
The call ended without anger.
That, somehow, made it harder.
By late morning, the storm had grown heavier.
News stations warned people to stay home.
O’Hare had canceled flights.
Several expressway exits were closed.
The city’s usual motion had slowed to cautious inches.
Victor moved through the penthouse turning off lights Nora had left on.
In the bathroom, her hairbrush remained beside the sink.
In the bedroom, one of her earrings sat on the dresser.
She had not taken everything.
Only what she needed.
That detail kept circling his mind.
She had not run blindly.
She had made a plan.
He went to the desk in the study and opened the drawer where household documents were kept.
Birth certificates.
Insurance policies.
The twins’ discharge paperwork.
He checked the folder and found both babies’ medical records gone.
Nora had prepared for appointments.
A second folder was missing too.
The one containing their lease agreement and the adoption papers for a small house in Evanston that Victor had purchased the previous summer.
He had bought the house because Nora had said the penthouse felt too high above the world.
It had a small garden, a sunroom, and a spare bedroom that could become a playroom.
He had never told her the deed was in her name.
He had intended it as a surprise.
Or perhaps he had intended it to compensate for everything he never gave her.
Victor sat at the desk and stared at the empty space.
His phone rang again.
This time, it was an unfamiliar number.
“Mr.
Rinaldi?” a woman asked.
“Yes.”
“My name is Evelyn Hart.
I’m a family attorney.
I represent Nora.”
Victor’s body went still.
“Where is she?”
“I’m not calling to disclose her location.”
“What do you want?”
“She asked me to contact you with instructions.”
“I’m listening.”
“Do not come to the hospital.
Do not contact her sister, her friends, or the staff at the shelter where she is staying.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed.
“Shelter?”
“She is staying in a private family residence arranged through a medical support organization.
It is secure and appropriate.”
He let the distinction settle.
Nora had not gone to a stranger’s apartment or vanished into the city.
Someone had helped her find a safe place.
“Are the twins receiving medical care?”
“Yes.”
“Do they need anything?”
“They have everything they need.”
“I can provide more.”
“They know.”
“Then what does Nora want from me?”
“She wants you to attend a counseling session before she speaks to you in person.”
Victor looked toward the nursery.
“Marriage counseling?”
“Individual counseling first.”
He almost laughed, but there was nothing amusing in the request.
“Because of Sylvia?”
“Because of a pattern of behavior that includes Sylvia.”
The directness unsettled him more than outrage would have.
“When?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.
Nine o’clock.
Dr.
Helen Wu, on North Clark.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Your punctuality will be noted.”
Victor glanced at the clock.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.
Nora wants you to understand that she is not withholding the twins to punish you.
She is making medical and emotional decisions while they are still fragile.”
“I know.”
“No, Mr.
Rinaldi.
You are beginning to know.”
The call ended.
Victor sat in the silence.
For the first time, he wondered what Nora had told the attorney.
He imagined every version, each one worse than the last.
Then he stopped himself.
He did not need to invent accusations.
The truth was sufficient.
At noon, Malcolm arrived despite Victor’s order not to bring anyone.
He stood just inside the door, snow melting from his coat.
“I said not to come.”
“I brought groceries.”
Victor glanced at the bags.
“I don’t need groceries.”
“You haven’t eaten.”
“That is not your concern.”
“It becomes my concern when you start making decisions while hungry.”
Victor almost told him to leave.
Instead, he took the bags.
Malcolm walked into the kitchen and began putting food away as if he had done it a hundred times.
In a way, he had.
He had seen Victor through long nights, family funerals, business failures, and the birth of the twins.
He had never seen him so uncertain.
“Did you know about the counseling?”
Victor asked.
“I suspected.”
“Everyone knew something.”
“Not everyone.”
“Enough people did.”
Malcolm closed the refrigerator.
“Nora asked for help.
People gave it.”
“I thought she would come to me.”
“She tried.”
Victor looked at him sharply.
Malcolm held his gaze.
“You didn’t notice.”
The words struck more deeply than Dr.
Bell’s.
Victor remembered Nora standing in the kitchen, asking whether he would be home for dinner.
He had said maybe.
She had asked whether he could hold Mia while she showered.
He had said he had a call.
She had asked if they could spend one Saturday without anyone else in the apartment.
He had called it nagging.
Maybe it had been an invitation.
“Did she say where she was going?”
Victor asked.
“No.”
“Did she leave anything with you?”
Malcolm hesitated.
Victor saw it.
“What?”
“A package.”
“Where is it?”
“I didn’t know whether to give it to you.”
“Why?”
“Because she told me to give it to you only if you asked what she had tried to tell you.”
Victor felt the room contract around him.
“What was she trying to tell me?”
“I don’t know.”
Malcolm reached inside his coat and removed a small brown envelope.
Victor did not take it immediately.
His name was written across the front in Nora’s handwriting.
Not Victor Rinaldi.
Just Victor.
He opened it carefully.
Inside was a folded sheet of paper and a tiny plastic hospital wristband.
Mia Rinaldi.
Birth weight: 3 pounds, 2 ounces.
Victor read the note.
I didn’t leave because of one night.
I left because every time I told you I was drowning, you asked whether the water was really that deep.
He stopped breathing for a moment.
Below that, she had written:
There is something you need to know about the twins.
Dr.
Bell has the records.
Ask him what happened the night they were born—not what you were told afterward.
Victor read the final line twice.
Do not come after us until you understand why I stopped trusting you with the truth.
He lifted his eyes.
Malcolm stood by the counter, silent.
Victor looked at the hospital wristband in his palm.
He had been present on the night Leo and Mia were born.
He remembered the ambulance, the bright corridors, Nora’s pale face, and the doctor telling him the babies were stable.
He remembered being called away before dawn because a business crisis had erupted at one of his warehouses.
He remembered telling Nora he would return in an hour.
He had not returned until the following afternoon.
For the first time, he wondered what had happened during those missing hours.
His phone began to ring.
Dr.
Bell.
Victor answered.
“Doctor,” he said.
“What happened the night my children were born?”
On the other end, Dr.
Bell drew a slow breath.
Then he said, “Your wife didn’t leave the hospital with the twins that night.”
Victor gripped the edge of the counter.
“What do you mean?”
“She left with a decision she has been carrying alone for nearly a year.”
“What decision?”
Dr.
Bell’s voice lowered.
“Victor, before Nora disappeared this morning, she asked me to give you one more thing.”
“What?”
“A recording.”
“Of what?”
“Your conversation with her after the twins were born.”
Victor felt the blood drain from his face.
“I never had a conversation with her.”
“I know,” Dr.
May you like
Bell said.
“That is exactly why you need to hear it.”
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