Chapter 2 - That was not reassuring.
I grabbed his wrist.
His eyes dropped to my fingers.
“Don’t let them take her.”
For the first time, something broke through the hardness in his face.
Not pity.
Pain.
“They’re trying to save both of you.”
“Promise me.”
His throat moved.
“Sophia—”
“Promise.”
Vincent leaned closer.
“I promise you won’t face this alone.”
That wasn’t what I asked.
But it was what I needed.
The obstetrician met us outside surgery.
Dr. Hansen.
Her blue eyes were sharp with fear.
“Sophia, listen to me.”
I started shaking.
“You have severe preeclampsia and signs that your liver and platelets are being affected. We’re concerned about HELLP syndrome.”
“Is my daughter alive?”
“Yes.”
The word shattered me with relief.
“But she’s showing distress.”
“What do we do?”
“We deliver her.”
“Tonight?”
“Now.”
I stared at her.
“She’s too early.”
“I know.”
“She’s only thirty-two weeks.”
“I know.”
My voice broke.
“I haven’t finished her room.”
Dr. Hansen squeezed my hand.
The absurdity of what I had said hit me.
Her room.
As if paint colors mattered.
As if the unfinished mobile over the crib mattered.
As if babies waited for you to be ready.
I looked behind her.
Vincent stood twenty feet away.
Still.
Watching.
I thought about Marcus pouring whiskey while I begged.
Something inside me broke.
“Where is my husband?”
No one answered.
Vincent did.
“Gone.”
Tears slipped into my hair.
“Then who signs if—”
“You sign,” Dr. Hansen said.
Her voice hardened.
“This is your body, Sophia.”
My body.
I had almost forgotten.
I nodded.
“Do it.”
The operating room was freezing.
Bright lights.
Blue masks.
Metal.
Someone told me to breathe.
Someone else counted instruments.
I stared at the ceiling.
The last thought I had before anesthesia pulled me under was that my daughter might enter the world without either parent waiting for her.
I woke hours later with an empty stomach.
For one horrible second, I didn’t understand.
Then I screamed.
A nurse rushed in.
“My baby.”
“She’s alive.”
I stopped.
“She’s alive?”
“She’s in the NICU.”
“Is she okay?”
“She weighs three pounds eleven ounces. She’s breathing with support, but she’s stable.”
My entire body shook with sobs.
“Can I see her?”
“Soon.”
The door opened.
I expected Marcus.
Some stupid, broken part of me still expected Marcus.
Instead Vincent Moretti entered carrying my mother’s silver necklace in his palm.
I stared.
The pendant was a small Saint Michael medal.
My mother had worn it every day of her life.
I had been wearing it when I collapsed.
“Where did you get that?”
“It was removed before surgery.”
He placed it carefully on the bedside table.
His fingers lingered for half a second.
Something strange moved across his face.
Grief.
I almost missed it.
“You recognize it.”
Vincent looked at me.
“No.”
He lied badly.
I knew that immediately.
“Why were you watching me?”
He pulled the chair toward my bed.
“You need to recover.”
“Answer me.”
“Sophia.”
“My husband abandoned me on a floor and his supposed mortal enemy broke into my home knowing my blood pressure.”
My voice trembled.
“I’m finished accepting half-answers from men.”
Something almost like approval flickered in Vincent’s eyes.
Then vanished.
“Marcus has been under observation for months.”
“By you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Financial theft. Blackmail. People disappearing from companies shortly after they became inconvenient.”
My skin chilled.
“You think Marcus kills people?”
“I think Marcus lets other people make problems disappear.”
I shook my head.
“You hate him. Of course you’d say that.”
Vincent leaned back.
“Your husband hates me.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I know what he is.”
The words were quiet.
Certain.
I looked away.
“Why save me?”
Silence.
I turned back.
He was staring at the Saint Michael medal.
“Vincent.”
His eyes lifted.
“I was in the building because Marcus was leaving.”
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“You followed him?”
“No.”
“Then how—”
He stood.
“We’ll talk when your daughter is stronger.”
“Don’t walk away from me.”
He stopped.
The sentence had come out sharper than I intended.
But it changed something in the room.
He turned slowly.
I swallowed.
“I’ve had enough of men deciding when I deserve the truth.”
Vincent stared at me for a long moment.
May you like
Then he said:
“Your husband did not marry you for the reason you think he did.”
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