Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Knew Before My HusbandI read the message three times before I could make myself breathe.
You should have left the baby behind.
The words glowed on the screen of the inexpensive phone Maya had bought for me that morning.
No one from Vincent's house had the number.
Not Rosa.
Not his security team.
Certainly not Vincent.
Maya had activated the phone using a separate account, and I had given the number to exactly two people.
Maya herself.
And Olivia Park, the divorce attorney I'd contacted from the hospital.
There was no reasonable explanation for a stranger knowing about my pregnancy.
Unless somebody had followed us.
Or somebody had been watching me long before I left.
I looked toward the cottage windows.
Beyond the glass, the lake shimmered beneath the pale morning sun.
A woman walked her dog along the opposite shore.
Everything looked peaceful.
That almost made the message worse.
"Maya?"
She came out of the kitchen carrying crackers and ginger tea.
"What's wrong?"
I handed her the phone.
Her expression changed.
"Who sent this?"
"I don't know."
She read the message again.
Then she locked the screen.
"First, don't respond. Second, we're calling Olivia."
"Maybe it's Vincent."
"Does Vincent know this number?"
"No."
"Then we don't assume it's him."
She sat beside me.
"Claire, I need to ask you something."
I nodded.
"Are you absolutely sure you want to keep the pregnancy secret from Vincent?"
I looked down.
"I don't want to keep it secret forever."
"Then what do you want?"
"Time."
The word came out before I could think.
I wanted time to recover.
Time to understand what had happened to my marriage.
Time to become more than a frightened woman fleeing a powerful husband.
Most of all, I wanted time to decide what motherhood would look like before Vincent decided for me.
Maya nodded.
"Then that's what we're going to protect."
She didn't tell me what to do.
She didn't promise everything would be easy.
She simply plugged in her phone and called Olivia.
By noon, we had a plan.
We would preserve the threatening message.
I would make a formal report.
Olivia would arrange for the hospital documentation and photographs of my injury to be retained.
And I would not contact Vincent directly until we had discussed safe communication and the legal steps involved.
I felt almost foolish listening to her.
A marriage.
A pregnancy.
A frightening text message.
Everything sounded manageable when arranged into sensible sentences.
But when I went into the bathroom to wash my face, I saw the fading red mark beneath my eye.
Suddenly, I was back in our bedroom.
Sophia's hand.
Vincent's silence.
And the terrible realization that I had become afraid of the man sleeping beside me.
By the third day, my fever had broken.
The cottage smelled of fresh coffee, pine cleaner, and the cinnamon bread Maya insisted I needed to eat.
I could keep down small meals.
My dizziness was improving.
And for the first time, I had enough energy to think clearly.
That was when the grief arrived.
It came without warning.
I was folding a sweater when I remembered Vincent kneeling beside our bed two years earlier.
We had just received another negative pregnancy test.
I was crying.
He pressed his forehead against my stomach and whispered, "Whether we have ten children or none, you're still my whole family."
I sank onto the bed.
How could the same person who said those words become someone who threw water at me?
How could love disappear so completely?
My phone vibrated.
For one foolish second, I hoped it was him.
Then I remembered he didn't have my number.
It was Olivia.
"I've reviewed your initial documents," she said.
"How bad is it?"
"The divorce itself is possible, regardless of whether he signs voluntarily. But because of his resources and connections, I want us to be careful."
I rubbed my forehead.
"What about the baby?"
"His paternity may give him legal rights and responsibilities. It doesn't give him the right to dictate where you live or force you back into the marriage."
I closed my eyes.
"He's going to fight me."
"Perhaps. But the court will consider evidence, not just his name."
Olivia paused.
"There's something else."
"What?"
"Your husband had an attorney contact my office this morning."
My heart began pounding.
"What did he say?"
"He asked whether I represented you."
"And?"
"I confirmed that I did. I didn't disclose your location."
"Did he threaten you?"
"No."
That surprised me.
"Then what did he want?"
Olivia hesitated.
"He said Mr. Moretti was prepared to provide medical care, financial support, and whatever security arrangements you wanted."
I stared at the wall.
"Security arrangements?"
"Yes."
"From the man I ran away from?"
"I understand."
I stood and walked toward the window.
Across the lake, a small boat moved through the morning mist.
"Tell him I don't want his money."
"Claire, accepting appropriate support for a child isn't the same as taking money for yourself."
"I know. But right now I need him to understand something."
"What?"
"He doesn't get to buy his way past what happened."
Olivia was quiet.
Then she said, "I'll make that clear."
After we hung up, I felt strangely empty.
For three years, I'd asked Vincent to listen.
Now that I had finally stopped speaking, he was apparently desperate to hear my voice.
In Chicago, Sophia Reynolds was furious.
Vincent hadn't allowed her into his office for forty-eight hours.
He had canceled two dinners.
Ignored seventeen messages.
And removed her name from the household access list.
When she finally confronted him at Moretti Tower, he was standing beside the windows overlooking the Chicago River.
His dark hair was neatly cut.
His expensive black suit was immaculate.
The tattoos covering his hands disappeared beneath his shirt cuffs.
To an outsider, he looked like the same composed businessman who dominated every room he entered.
Sophia knew better.
He hadn't slept.
His temper was dangerously controlled.
And his wedding ring was still on his finger.
"Vincent."
He didn't turn.
"Why are you here?"
"Because you've been avoiding me."
"I'm working."
"On what? Finding Claire?"
He looked over his shoulder.
Sophia smiled softly.
"Darling, I know you're upset. But you need to understand that she's doing exactly what I warned you she'd do."
Vincent said nothing.
"She wants to make you feel guilty."
"She was sick."
"She exaggerated."
"She had a fever of one hundred and three."
Sophia hesitated.
Then shrugged.
"People get fevers."
Vincent turned fully toward her.
His expression was unreadable.
"Did you know she was pregnant?"
Sophia's hand tightened around her purse.
"What?"
"Answer me."
"No."
He studied her.
"Are you certain?"
"Of course."
"Rosa says Claire found out that night."
Sophia looked momentarily relieved.
Then she stepped closer.
"Well, that explains everything."
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
"What does?"
"The pregnancy."
She lowered her voice.
"Vincent, think about it. She tells you she wants a divorce, disappears, and suddenly there's a baby. It's practically scripted."
Vincent stared at her.
A week earlier, he might have believed her.
He had believed so many things.
He had allowed Sophia to interpret every complaint Claire made.
Had accepted her explanations instead of asking his wife.
Had mistaken Sophia's confidence for honesty.
Now he remembered the recording of Claire collapsing against the bedroom furniture.
He remembered the water dripping from her hair.
And he remembered how small she looked when Sophia struck her.
"You slapped my wife," he said.
Sophia blinked.
"Excuse me?"
"You hit her."
"She was disrespectful."
"She was ill."
"She slapped you, too."
Vincent took one step closer.
"And what did I do before that?"
Sophia looked confused.
"What?"
"What did I do to her?"
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Finally, she laughed.
"Vincent, you can't seriously be blaming yourself."
He said nothing.
Sophia reached for his arm.
"I love you. I'm the one who understands you."
He looked at her hand.
Then pulled away.
"Leave."
Her smile vanished.
"What?"
"Get out of my office."
"You're choosing her?"
Vincent's voice dropped.
"Don't make me repeat myself."
Sophia walked toward the door.
But before leaving, she turned around.
"Be careful, Vincent."
He looked at her.
"Of what?"
"Claire knows far more about your businesses than you think."
The door closed behind her.
Vincent stood motionless.
Then he picked up his phone.
"Rafael."
"Yes, boss?"
"I want an independent review of every account Sophia has accessed since she joined us."
"All of them?"
"Every single one."
Rafael hesitated.
"There's something you should know first."
Vincent sat down.
"Go on."
"Sophia's employment paperwork doesn't match the access permissions she's been using."
"What does that mean?"
"Human resources hired her as an executive assistant. Somebody later gave her financial-administration credentials."
"Who?"
"Your uncle Aldo approved them."
Vincent's expression changed.
Aldo Moretti was his father's younger brother.
He had helped run the family organization for thirty years.
He controlled several freight operations and had been one of Vincent's closest advisers since his father's death.
Vincent trusted him with business decisions he wouldn't delegate to anyone else.
"Why would Aldo do that?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out."
Vincent looked toward the closed door.
Sophia's final warning suddenly sounded different.
Not like concern.
Like a threat.
At the cottage, I was sorting through the documents I'd brought from Chicago when I found an old photograph.
Vincent and me.
Our first Christmas together.
I was wearing a ridiculous green sweater.
He had his arms wrapped around me from behind.
We were standing in the kitchen of our first apartment, laughing because I'd burned an entire tray of cookies.
I traced his face with my thumb.
Then I turned the photograph over.
He had written something on the back.
For Claire, who makes me want to be a better man.
I stared at those words for a long time.
Then I placed the photograph inside my grandmother's wooden box.
I didn't tear it up.
I didn't throw it away.
I simply couldn't keep looking at it.
That afternoon, Olivia called again.
"I've received a response from Mr. Moretti's legal team."
I braced myself.
"Let me guess. He refuses the divorce."
"That's not exactly what it says."
She read part of the letter.
Vincent was offering temporary financial support and agreeing not to approach me without my consent.
He also wanted confirmation that I was receiving appropriate medical care.
And he wanted to know if the baby was healthy.
I sat very still.
"Did he ask if I was healthy?"
Olivia paused.
"Yes. Actually, that's the first question in the letter."
My throat tightened.
It was such a small thing.
A question.
Something he should have asked when I was standing in front of him burning with fever.
Now it arrived through lawyers.
Too late to undo anything.
"Tell him I'm receiving treatment," I said.
"And tell him the pregnancy has been confirmed."
"Anything else?"
I looked toward the lake.
"Tell him I'm not ready to speak to him."
Olivia wrote something down.
"All right."
"Olivia?"
"Yes?"
"Do you think people really change?"
She was silent for a moment.
"Some do."
"And how do you know?"
"You watch what they do when changing costs them something."
I thought about that for hours.
That evening, Rosa called Maya from the housekeeper's private phone.
I had given Maya permission to speak with her, but not to reveal our location.
Rosa sounded frightened.
"Miss Maya, is Claire safe?"
"She's getting better."
"Thank God."
Maya hesitated.
"Rosa, did Sophia know Claire was pregnant before Vincent did?"
There was a long silence.
Then Rosa whispered, "I don't know."
"Please think carefully."
"I was cleaning the bedroom that night. The test was on the bathroom counter."
"Did anyone else go inside?"
"I went downstairs to bring tea."
"And?"
"When I came back, Miss Reynolds was standing in the hallway."
Maya straightened.
"After Claire left?"
"No. Earlier that evening. She said she'd forgotten something."
"Did you see her enter the bathroom?"
"No."
Rosa's breathing grew uneven.
"But she asked me a strange question."
"What question?"
"She asked whether Madam had been sick in the mornings."
Maya went still.
"What did you tell her?"
"I said Claire had been unwell for two days."
"Anything else?"
"Miss Reynolds smiled."
Rosa's voice dropped.
"Then she said, 'That could complicate things.'"
Maya looked across the room at me.
My stomach tightened.
Complicate what?
Why would my pregnancy matter to Sophia?
And why had she been near our bedroom after Vincent had left with her?
Maya put the call on speaker.
"Rosa, do you remember anything else?"
"Yes."
The housekeeper swallowed.
"I saw something in the upstairs wastebasket the next morning."
"What?"
"A small envelope. It had Miss Reynolds's name on it."
"Was there anything inside?"
"No. But it was from a medical records service. I remember because I wondered why it had been sent to Madam's bedroom."
I closed my eyes.
Before leaving Chicago, I had received fertility-clinic messages through an old family tablet that remained connected to my patient portal.
Vincent had purchased it for us when we started trying for a baby.
I had stopped using it months ago.
But it was still in the house.
I hadn't thought to disconnect it.
And Sophia had been spending more time in our private rooms than I wanted to admit.
"Rosa," I whispered, "where is that tablet?"
"In Mr. Moretti's study."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, dear."
I looked at Maya.
Suddenly, the threatening message made a little more sense.
Someone might have known I was trying to get pregnant long before I knew I'd succeeded.
Someone might have watched Sophia search our bedroom.
Someone might even have been monitoring the messages meant only for my husband and me.
I asked Rosa one final question.
"Did Sophia ever use my tablet?"
"She said she needed it for a video call."
"When?"
"About three weeks ago."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
That was the week Vincent accused me of lying about our fertility appointments.
The week he said Sophia had shown him proof I was exaggerating our difficulties.
He refused to tell me what she'd shown him.
I had dismissed it as another argument.
Now I wasn't so sure.
After the call, Maya sat beside me.
"Claire, what are you thinking?"
I stared at the phone.
"I'm thinking Sophia didn't just steal my husband."
My voice came out strangely calm.
"I'm thinking she's been collecting information about me."
Maya swallowed.
"Why?"
"I don't know."
Then another message appeared on my screen.
This time, there was an attachment.
A photograph.
It showed the front door of the cottage.
Taken from the driveway.
Beneath it were five words.
"We know where you are."
I looked toward the window.
May you like
The sun had already disappeared behind the trees.
And somewhere outside, a car engine started.
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