Chapter 2 - The Baby Who Had His EyesThe party didn't continue.
Nobody pretended it could.
Ethan took Clara into the library.
He closed the door.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Sophie slept in Clara's arms.
Ethan kept looking at her.
“I want a DNA test.”
Clara's jaw tightened.
“I figured.”
“Tonight.”
“No.”
His eyes snapped to hers.
“No?”
“You don't get to walk in after two years and demand access to my daughter because she looks like you.”
“Your daughter?”
Clara went still.
The words had escaped him.
He heard them too late.
He had meant to say our daughter.
He couldn't.
Not before knowing.
Clara sat.
“She was born eight months after our divorce.”
Ethan's face went blank.
Eight months.
He calculated backward.
His hands began trembling.
“Eight months?”
“Yes.”
“You were pregnant when we separated?”
“Yes.”
He stared.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
“You told me you never wanted to see me again.”
“I was angry.”
“You were cruel.”
He looked away.
Clara continued.
“You signed the divorce papers on the fifteenth.”
“I know.”
“I found out I was pregnant three days later.”
Ethan looked at her.
“Why didn't you call?”
“Because I had already called you once.”
He frowned.
“I don't remember.”
“You wouldn't.”
Clara's voice was steady.
“I called the night you left.”
His memory slammed into him.
The rain.
The argument.
The hotel meeting he'd used as an excuse to leave.
His mother calling him afterward.
A voicemail.
A phone he'd never checked.
He had deleted it the next morning without listening because Clara had left a message before that.
He'd been angry.
He'd wanted silence.
God.
“I told you,” Clara said, “I was tired of begging you to hear me.”
Ethan sat down.
“What did the message say?”
“I said I was pregnant.”
The room went silent.
“Why didn't I know?”
“Your mother called me.”
Ethan looked up.
“What?”
Clara looked toward the window.
“Eleanor knew before you did.”
His stomach dropped.
“What did she say?”
“She offered me money.”
Ethan stood.
“No.”
“She said the family couldn't survive a scandal.”
“That doesn't sound like my mother.”
Clara laughed once.
“It was exactly your mother.”
“She wanted you to terminate the pregnancy?”
“She suggested an adoption.”
Ethan stared.
“Did you tell her no?”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“She told me you'd never believe the child was yours.”
Ethan felt sick.
Clara looked down at Sophie.
“So I left.”
He looked at the baby again.
“What's her full name?”
“Sophie Rose Whitmore.”
“Why Whitmore?”
“Because you never gave me a reason to give her Caldwell.”
Ethan flinched.
The words were deserved.
A knock came.
Margaret entered.
Behind her was Eleanor.
Ethan turned on his mother.
“Did you know?”
Eleanor looked at Clara.
Then Ethan.
“I knew she was pregnant.”
“Did you tell me?”
“No.”
His voice rose.
“Why?”
Eleanor's eyes filled.
“Because I believed I was protecting this family.”
“You stole my daughter.”
“She wasn't born.”
“She was alive.”
“I didn't know if she would be.”
“What does that mean?”
Eleanor sat.
“Clara had a difficult pregnancy.”
Clara looked at her.
“You never knew that.”
Eleanor nodded.
“I did.”
Ethan stared.
“My mother had people following you?”
Clara didn't answer.
Eleanor did.
“Yes.”
He turned away.
The woman who had taught him how to negotiate million-dollar deals had manipulated his marriage.
For what?
A family image?
A company?
He looked at the baby.
“How did you keep Sophie safe?”
Clara's voice softened.
“I had help.”
“From whom?”
“A doctor.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Samuel Price.”
Ethan knew the name.
His family's physician.
He stared at Clara.
“He delivered her?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't he tell me?”
“He was afraid.”
“Of my mother?”
Clara shook her head.
“Of your father.”
Ethan went still.
His father had died three years earlier.
But his old notebooks were still in the house.
His business records.
His private correspondence.
Why would Samuel be afraid of him?
Before anyone could answer, Sophie woke.
Her eyes opened.
She stared directly at Ethan.
Then reached toward him.
Clara froze.
Ethan's breath caught.
The room went silent.
He held out one finger.
Sophie grabbed it.
Something broke inside him.
He whispered:
“Hi, baby.”
Clara looked away.
Ethan touched her tiny hand.
He didn't know her.
But every cell in his body recognized her.
His daughter.
The word finally came.
“Our daughter.”
Clara's eyes filled.
“Now you say it.”
“I didn't know.”
“You could have.”
“I should have.”
“Yes.”
He looked at her.
“I'm sorry.”
She shook her head.
“You're not the only person who owes me an apology.”
Ethan turned toward his mother.
“What else don't I know?”
Eleanor looked at him.
“I can't tell you.”
“You will.”
She said nothing.
Margaret stepped forward.
“I can.”
She placed a folder on the desk.
“I found this after you left Clara's apartment two years ago.”
Ethan opened it.
Hospital records.
A sonogram.
A payment receipt.
A legal document.
And a photograph of Clara, visibly pregnant.
At the bottom was his mother's signature.
Ethan stared.
His voice dropped.
“You paid the clinic.”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“You paid them to hide her pregnancy.”
“I was trying to stop the media from finding out.”
“There was no media.”
“There could have been.”
Ethan looked at Clara.
She didn't cry.
That somehow made it worse.
“You knew all this time.”
Clara shook her head.
“No.”
She stood.
“I knew your mother interfered.”
“But?”
“I didn't know how much.”
Ethan closed the folder.
“I need air.”
He walked out.
In the hallway, Margaret followed.
“You didn't know?”
“No.”
She touched his arm.
“Ethan…”
He pulled away.
“Did you know about the invitation?”
“No.”
“Did you know Clara was bringing Sophie?”
“No.”
He laughed bitterly.
“Then someone wanted me to see them tonight.”
Margaret frowned.
“What do you mean?”
Ethan looked toward the closed library door.
“I think this isn't just about my mother.”
His phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
He answered.
“Mr. Caldwell?”
“Who is this?”
“I know who Sophie’s biological father is.”
Ethan went still.
“You're speaking to him.”
“No.”
A pause.
“You're not.”
The line went dead.
Ethan stared at the phone.
May you like
Then another message appeared.
Ask Clara what happened at the hospital the night Sophie was born.
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