Chapter 2 - The Heartbeat He Almost Missed
For six days, Adrian did not call me.
That frightened me more than if he had called a hundred times.
He sent exactly one message each morning.
Did you sleep?
And exactly one each evening.
Do you need anything?
I answered neither.
On the seventh day, Margaret called while I was sitting on the floor of her guest apartment eating crackers from the sleeve because everything else made me nauseous.
"Your husband signed the temporary financial agreement," she said.
"Ex-husband in training."
"He also signed the provision agreeing not to enter your residence without written permission, not to contact your doctor, and not to use security personnel to track your movements."
I lowered the cracker.
"He signed all of that?"
"Without changing a word."
That did not sound like Adrian.
"What does he want?"
Margaret hesitated.
"He wants you to reconsider allowing him at the ultrasound."
My stomach twisted.
The appointment was the next morning.
"No."
"Elena-"
"No."
"I'm not telling you what to do. But his attorney also delivered a letter. Not from counsel. From Adrian. I think you should read it before deciding."
An hour later, Margaret handed me a single sheet of paper.
Adrian's handwriting was almost offensively neat.
Elena,
I do not deserve to stand beside you as your husband. I understand that now in a way I should have understood before asking you to leave our marriage.
But I am asking for permission to stand in the room as the baby's father.
I will not speak unless you want me to. I will not touch you. I will not ask the doctor questions you do not approve. If at any moment you want me to leave, I will leave.
If the answer is still no, I will accept it.
A.
I read it three times.
Then I became angry because it was easier than being moved.
"He's learning very quickly," I said.
Margaret sat across from me.
"Maybe."
"Or he's manipulating me."
"Also possible."
"You're supposed to tell me which one."
"I'm your attorney, not your priest."
I gave her a tired look.
She smiled faintly.
"Elena, you are allowed to be cautious without being cruel. You are also allowed to change your mind later. Letting him hear one heartbeat does not give him custody. Refusing does not make you a bad person. You decide what you can live with."
So I decided.
The next morning, at 9:12, Adrian walked into the obstetrician's office alone.
No driver visible.
No security team crowding the hallway.
No dark suit.
He wore charcoal trousers and a black sweater, and he looked so normal that for one second I remembered what he had looked like at twenty-nine, before everyone in Chicago knew to lower their voice around the Romano name.
Then he saw me.
He stopped.
"Thank you," he said.
"There are rules."
"I know."
"You sit where I tell you. You don't answer questions for me. You don't ask about my records. You don't make decisions."
"Understood."
"And if I say leave-"
"I leave."
I nodded.
Dr. Patel called us in ten minutes later.
She knew about the divorce because I had told her. She also knew enough about Adrian's reputation to be careful around him, but she did not treat him like a king. I loved her for that.
"Mr. Romano," she said, "your wife is my patient. If she asks you to step out, you step out."
Adrian nodded.
"Of course."
We began.
I stared at the ceiling while Dr. Patel adjusted the machine. My hands were cold. My heart was beating too fast. I had spent the previous night terrified that there would be no heartbeat, that I would walk into a room with my marriage already dead and leave with something even worse.
Then the sound came.
Fast.
Tiny.
Impossible.
A rapid flutter filled the room.
I started crying before I realized I was crying.
Dr. Patel smiled.
"There it is. One strong heartbeat. Measuring right on schedule."
I covered my mouth.
Adrian made a sound beside me.
Not a word.
A breath that broke halfway out.
I turned my head.
He was staring at the monitor.
Adrian Romano had faced men with guns, funerals, investigations, betrayals, and public scandals without letting his face change.
But one flickering heartbeat on a black-and-white screen destroyed every defense he had.
His eyes filled.
He looked away immediately, as if emotion itself were a violation of the rules.
That almost undid me more than the tears.
Dr. Patel printed two images.
She handed one to me.
The second remained beside the machine.
Adrian looked at it but did not reach.
"May I?" he asked.
The question was directed at me.
I nodded.
He picked up the ultrasound image with both hands.
Like it was breakable.
Like he was.
Afterward, Dr. Patel asked about nausea, sleep, cramping, stress.
When I admitted I had lost five pounds, Adrian's head turned sharply.
He said nothing.
That was part of the agreement.
But outside, in the hallway, he asked, "Five pounds?"
"Morning sickness."
"Since when?"
"Before the divorce."
He closed his eyes.
There were a hundred things he could have said.
He chose the worst one.
"I should have noticed."
"Yes."
He opened his eyes again.
"I thought you were avoiding breakfast because you were angry with me."
"I was throwing up."
The shame that crossed his face was so raw I almost looked away.
Then a woman's voice cut through the corridor.
"Adrian?"
My entire body went rigid.
Bianca stood twenty feet away.
She wore a cream coat and dark sunglasses pushed into her hair. Beautiful, polished, and completely out of place in an obstetrician's office.
Adrian went still.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
Bianca looked from him to me to the ultrasound image in his hand.
Her face changed.
"So it's true."
I felt cold.
Adrian stepped between us.
"How did you know we were here?"
Bianca's expression flickered.
"Your driver told me."
"I came alone."
Silence.
The hallway seemed to narrow.
Bianca recovered quickly.
"Then someone at the house must have mentioned it."
Adrian's voice dropped.
"No one at the house knew where I was going."
That was the first moment I saw fear enter his face.
Not fear of Bianca.
Fear of what her presence meant.
He turned to me.
"Go back inside."
My anger flared immediately.
"Don't order me-"
"Elena." His voice changed. "Please."
That word stopped me.
Please.
Not move.
Not now.
Not because I said so.
Please.
Dr. Patel opened the door behind me, sensing something was wrong.
I stepped backward into the office.
Adrian remained in the hallway with Bianca.
The last thing I heard before the door closed was him asking, very quietly,
"Who told you about the baby?"
And Bianca answering,
"Adrian, don't make this dramatic."
He did not raise his voice.
That made the next words worse.
"You have no idea how dramatic this is about to become."
Dr. Patel kept me in the office for another twenty minutes after Bianca left the hallway.
She checked my blood pressure twice.
"Stress is not good for you," she said.
I almost laughed.
"Can you prescribe a different husband?"
Her expression softened.
"I can prescribe boundaries."
"Apparently everybody is prescribing those now."
When I finally stepped into the parking garage, Adrian was waiting beside the elevator.
Bianca was gone.
He held the ultrasound photograph inside a plain envelope now, as if even the image needed protection.
"I arranged a car for you," he said.
I stopped.
"Without asking?"
His jaw tightened.
Then he caught himself.
"You're right. Margaret's driver is downstairs. I only confirmed he was still here."
It was such a small correction that no one else would have noticed.
I did.
"What did Bianca say?"
"That she heard about the pregnancy from someone anonymous."
"Do you believe that?"
"No."
"Did you tell her where I was staying?"
His face hardened.
"Never."
"Did you tell her about Margaret?"
"She knew Margaret was your attorney because I told her after I received the call."
I stared at him.
"Why?"
"Because she was in my office when Margaret called."
The admission landed badly.
"Of course she was."
"Elena-"
"Don't explain."
He stopped.
I had expected a defense. He gave me none.
"I will find out how she knew about the appointment," he said.
"And then what?"
The old Adrian would have answered with a threat.
He would have made it sound as if the world were a boardroom and every danger could be eliminated by applying enough pressure.
Instead he said, "Then I will tell Margaret what I find and let her decide what is relevant to you."
I studied him.
"You're involving my attorney before me?"
"Because you asked me not to manage your life."
I hated how reasonable he sounded.
"You could have learned this six months ago."
"I could have learned it six years ago."
That answer silenced me.
I walked toward the elevator.
"Elena."
I turned.
He held up the envelope containing the ultrasound.
"Can I keep this?"
The question nearly broke me.
"Yes."
His hand closed around it.
"Thank you."
I stepped into the elevator alone.
As the doors closed, I saw him standing in the fluorescent light looking down at the envelope as if it contained instructions for becoming a different man.
By the time I reached Margaret's apartment, I had three missed calls from Adrian's sister, Lucia.
I called her back because unlike most Romanos, Lucia had never made me feel like marrying Adrian meant marrying an institution.
She answered immediately.
"Are you all right?"
"Physically."
She was quiet.
"He told me."
"About the baby or the divorce?"
"Both."
I closed my eyes.
"I'm sorry."
"Why are you apologizing?"
"Because he's my brother and sometimes loving someone makes you feel responsible for what they do."
"Then stop. I did that for eight years. It doesn't work."
Lucia sighed.
"Fair."
I sat at the edge of the bed.
"Did you know about Bianca?"
"Not until three weeks ago."
Pain tightened my chest.
"Three weeks?"
"I confronted him. He told me it was none of my business. I told him ruining his marriage would become everybody's business eventually."
That sounded like Lucia.
"Did he say he loved her?"
"He said she understood him."
I laughed bitterly.
"Apparently I only understood his prescriptions, his business dinners, his family, his insomnia, his food allergies, and every scar on his body."
"Elena."
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not. And you don't have to be."
I cried then.
Quietly.
Lucia stayed on the phone and did not try to fix me.
Before we hung up, she said, "Whatever happens between you and Adrian, I want to know my niece or nephew. But only if you want me there."
I looked down at my stomach.
The Romano family had always spoken in terms of rights.
Lucia had asked for permission.
"I want you there," I said.
"Then I'm there."
After the call, I understood something I had not expected.
Leaving Adrian did not necessarily mean erasing every person I had loved through him.
Divorce could divide a marriage without turning every relationship into a battlefield.
May you like
I wished Adrian understood that too.
I did not yet know that the next twenty-four hours would show me exactly how far someone inside his own family was willing to go to make sure peace became impossible.
