Chapter 6 - The First Time He Held Her Without an Audience
Roman held Sophie for seventeen minutes before he began crying.
I know because I watched the clock.
It was the first time he had seen our daughter since the night he left for Laya's birthday.
Sophie was sixteen days old.
The visit took place in a quiet private family room at a pediatric care center.
Our attorneys had agreed on the location, the schedule, and the presence of a nurse while we worked toward temporary parenting orders.
Roman had initially objected.
He wanted Sophie brought back to the mansion.
He wanted his own staff.
His own security.
His own rules.
But after several conversations with counsel, he had accepted the arrangement.
When he entered the room, he stopped in the doorway.
I was sitting beside the window with Sophie asleep against my shoulder.
He stared at us.
For a moment, the powerful businessman disappeared.
He looked like a man who had forgotten how to breathe.
"Aaron."
I nodded.
"She's just eaten."
He looked at Sophie.
"Can I hold her?"
The question surprised me.
Roman had never been a man who asked permission for anything.
I glanced at Nina.
She gave me a small reassuring nod.
"Of course."
I showed Roman how to support Sophie's head and settled her carefully into his arms.
His expensive watch caught the light as he adjusted his grip.
He stared down at her.
"Hi, princess."
Sophie's eyelids fluttered.
Roman smiled.
It was a small smile.
Uncertain.
Almost shy.
I'd seen Roman smile in photographs beside presidents, executives, athletes, and celebrities.
I had never seen him look so completely unguarded.
"She got your nose," he whispered.
I looked at him.
"I think she got yours."
He shook his head.
"No. Definitely yours."
For a moment, we sounded like ordinary new parents.
Then Sophie made a tiny squeaking noise.
Roman froze.
"Is she okay?"
"She's fine."
"Was that normal?"
"Yes."
He looked down again.
"She's so small."
I swallowed.
"She was even smaller when she came home."
The words changed something in his face.
He glanced at me.
I didn't soften them.
He had missed those days.
Not because he was traveling for unavoidable work.
Not because a storm had trapped him somewhere.
Because he had chosen to be somewhere else.
Roman lowered his gaze.
"I know."
We sat in silence.
Then he began telling Sophie things.
He told her about Milwaukee in the winter.
About the lake.
About how his mother used to take him to the public museum when he was little.
About the old family dog who had eaten an entire Thanksgiving pie.
I had heard some of those stories before.
But never like this.
Never with Roman speaking softly because he was afraid of waking someone he loved.
At seventeen minutes, he stopped talking.
His shoulders moved.
I looked up.
Tears were sliding down his face.
Roman Moretti, who had once negotiated a two-hundred-million-dollar acquisition while being threatened with a shareholder lawsuit, was crying over a sleeping baby.
He looked at me.
"I missed her first week."
I didn't answer.
"I missed so much."
"Yes."
He swallowed.
"I keep looking at pictures. The ones you sent before everything happened. And I realize I wasn't there when most of them were taken."
I felt my own eyes burn.
"You could have been."
He closed his eyes.
"I know."
For a moment, I remembered the Roman I'd fallen in love with.
The man who once drove four hours through a snowstorm because I'd called to say I had a flat tire.
The man who danced with me in our first apartment before he inherited his father's controlling interest in the family businesses.
The man who used to remember how I took my coffee.
I wondered when that man had disappeared.
Or whether he had always been capable of becoming someone else.
Roman opened his eyes.
"I don't expect you to forgive me."
I stared at him.
He continued.
"I just want to be her father."
Something in my chest loosened.
"Then be her father."
He looked at me.
"Show up when you say you'll show up. Learn what she needs. Listen to her doctors. Stop treating parenting like something an assistant can arrange."
He nodded.
"And don't use her to punish me."
His face tightened.
"I won't."
I wanted to believe him.
But I had learned that promises were easy.
The proof would be in what he did when nobody was watching.
After the visit, Roman asked whether I would stay for a few minutes.
Nina took Sophie into an adjoining room to change her diaper.
I remained seated.
Roman looked nervous.
It was a strange sight.
"I have something to tell you."
My stomach tightened.
"About Laya?"
"About all of it."
He placed a folder on the table.
"I asked the independent auditors to examine the foundation contracts. They found payments totaling eight million, four hundred and sixty thousand dollars to Alder Road and two related vendors over eleven months."
I stared at him.
"That's more than Cora told me."
He nodded.
"Some payments were routed through subcontractors."
"For what?"
"Some legitimate services were provided, but nowhere near the value billed. The auditors are tracing the differences."
I opened the folder.
There were summaries.
Contract dates.
Invoice references.
Names of companies I didn't recognize.
Then I reached a page containing a diagram of business relationships.
At the center was Alder Road Consulting.
Below it were two entities.
Crane Strategic Holdings.
And Voss Advisory Services.
My breath caught.
"Roman."
He nodded grimly.
"Laya had a financial interest. Martin's firm received fees."
I stared at the page.
"Did you know?"
"No."
I looked up sharply.
Roman held my gaze.
"But I should have."
The answer surprised me.
He continued.
"I approved the delegation that allowed Laya's team to manage those contracts. I ignored Iris. I ignored you. And I allowed Martin to advise me on matters where he had a conflict."
He took a breath.
"Those are my failures."
I looked back at the folder.
For years, Roman had insisted that every expensive mistake had a reasonable explanation.
Now he was sitting across from me, finally accepting responsibility for the way he had allowed people around him to operate.
"Have you reported this?" I asked.
"To the independent board members and the foundation's outside auditors. We're working with separate counsel on the required disclosures and potential referrals."
"What about the money meant for the clinics?"
His eyes darkened.
"I've personally committed funds to keep approved health programs operating while the audit continues. The foundation is reviewing which payments can be safely continued."
I nodded slowly.
It mattered.
Not because Roman could erase wrongdoing by writing another check.
But because the women depending on those services shouldn't suffer while wealthy people fought over stolen money.
"What about Laya?" I asked.
He looked away.
"She says she did nothing wrong."
"Of course she does."
"She's threatening to release personal information if I investigate her."
My pulse quickened.
"What information?"
Roman hesitated.
Then he looked at me.
"Messages."
I felt something cold settle in my stomach.
"Between you and her?"
He nodded.
"Photos. Emails. Things I said about our marriage."
My throat tightened.
I had known about the affair.
But there was something cruel about realizing that another woman had enough private conversations with my husband to use them as weapons.
"Do they contain anything relevant to the foundation?" I asked.
"Possibly."
"Then preserve them."
He stared at me.
"Aaron, some of it will hurt you."
I swallowed.
"Roman, you already hurt me."
He looked down.
I continued.
"The truth isn't what caused that pain."
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Roman slid one more page toward me.
It was a copy of a letter.
From his new independent counsel.
It confirmed that he had voluntarily disclosed potential misconduct involving foundation contracts and asked for an external review of the questioned expenditures.
I studied it.
"You actually did it."
He nodded.
"I can't undo what happened. But I can stop hiding from it."
I looked at him.
For the first time in weeks, I saw something resembling the man I had once respected.
But respect was not trust.
And one responsible decision could not erase years of betrayal.
I closed the folder.
"Good."
He looked almost disappointed.
As though he had hoped for something more.
I stood carefully.
"Roman, I need to go. Sophie will be ready for her next feeding soon."
He stood too.
"Aaron?"
I stopped.
"Do you think there's any chance for us?"
The question hung between us.
I looked at the man who had once been the center of my world.
I remembered our wedding.
Our first Christmas.
The night I told him I was pregnant.
The tears in his eyes when he first heard Sophie's heartbeat.
Then I remembered the empty chair beside my hospital bed.
The unanswered calls.
Laya's emerald bracelet.
The reports about my mental health.
The documents signed without my knowledge.
"I don't know," I said.
Roman swallowed.
"That's fair."
I shook my head.
"No, Roman. Fair would have been telling me the truth before I had to leave with our newborn daughter."
I walked out.
He didn't follow.
Two days later, Mara called with news about Lionel Fitch.
He had agreed to provide records and a statement through his attorney.
But his cooperation came with a condition.
He wanted legal protections before discussing his own role in the forged reports.
Mara explained that Lionel's attorney was negotiating with the appropriate investigators.
"We can't promise immunity," she said. "But he may have information worth examining."
"What information?"
"Recordings of meetings with Laya and Martin Voss."
My heart accelerated.
"Did he record Roman?"
"Not that we know."
I closed my eyes.
"Can we hear them?"
"When they're appropriately authenticated and disclosed, we'll find out what they establish."
The next several days passed in a strange mixture of ordinary motherhood and extraordinary fear.
I changed diapers.
Sterilized bottles.
Attended follow-up appointments.
Slept whenever Nina or Elena could help.
Meanwhile, lawyers gathered records, auditors examined transactions, and reporters began asking questions about the foundation.
Roman's name appeared in financial news.
Laya stopped posting photographs.
Martin Voss declined requests for comment.
I stayed quiet.
For once, silence wasn't surrender.
It was a choice.
On Monday morning, Sophie was twenty-three days old.
I was sitting on the couch, drinking coffee while she slept, when Mara called.
Her voice was controlled.
Too controlled.
"Aaron, I want you to hear this from me before anyone contacts you."
I straightened.
"What happened?"
"Laya's new attorneys filed an affidavit in connection with Roman's family-law case."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Why would Laya be involved?"
"She says she has personal knowledge relevant to the allegations about your condition after childbirth."
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Cora had warned me.
Laya didn't like losing.
"What does she say?"
Mara paused.
"That you experienced severe emotional instability. That you threatened to leave Roman and disappear with Sophie before the birth. And that she personally witnessed an incident suggesting you couldn't safely care for your daughter."
I stared at the wall.
"I haven't even seen Laya since I was pregnant."
"I know."
"Roman told me he wasn't involving her anymore."
"He may not have authorized this filing. His counsel is reviewing it."
I felt tears burn.
"What incident?"
Mara took a breath.
"She claims that during a visit to the mansion, you left the nursery while Sophie was crying and refused to return."
I stared at her voice coming through the phone.
That had never happened.
But then I remembered something.
The third day after we came home.
I had been in the nursery.
Sophie had been crying.
I was in terrible pain.
Lionel came to the doorway and told me Roman needed to speak with me downstairs.
I had asked the night nurse, who was standing beside Sophie's bassinet, to stay with her for a moment.
Then I went downstairs.
Roman wasn't there.
Lionel said there had been a misunderstanding.
I returned upstairs almost immediately.
Sophie was still with the nurse.
Safe.
Comforted.
Now I understood.
They had taken that ordinary moment and rewritten it.
Mara continued.
"Laya attached a photograph."
My pulse pounded.
"What photograph?"
"An image of Sophie crying in her bassinet. You're not visible in the frame."
I closed my eyes.
The photograph could not prove abandonment.
But it could frighten people who didn't know what had actually happened.
"Where was the nurse?"
"That's what we're investigating."
I took a breath.
"Her name was Bethany."
"Do you have her contact information?"
"Yes."
"Good. We'll approach this properly."
I stared toward the window.
Then I asked the question that mattered most.
"Does Roman know?"
Mara hesitated.
"He was notified this morning."
"And?"
"He instructed his counsel to oppose reliance on the affidavit until the allegations could be verified."
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
It was the first time Roman had openly refused to support Laya's accusations against me.
It should have made me feel better.
Instead, I felt exhausted.
Because he'd waited until his mistress placed a sworn statement before the court to finally begin defending the truth.
That evening, Roman called.
I answered.
"I didn't authorize Laya's affidavit," he said immediately.
"I know."
"I'm going to make sure it doesn't stand."
"Then tell the truth."
"I will."
There was a pause.
Then his voice changed.
"Aaron, she says she has proof."
My stomach tightened.
"Proof of what?"
"Something from the hospital."
I felt cold.
"What hospital?"
"Saint Catherine's."
The hospital where Sophie was born.
Roman continued.
"Laya claims she obtained a nursing note that raises concerns about your emotional condition after delivery."
I stared at the phone.
"Roman, hospital records are private."
"I know."
"How did she get it?"
"I don't know yet."
I looked toward Sophie.
Then at the hospital discharge folder beside me.
I remembered the nurses who had cared for us.
The doctor who held my hand before surgery.
The exhaustion.
The pain.
The joy.
The moment I first heard Sophie cry.
Someone had found a way to drag even those memories into this nightmare.
I took a breath.
"Roman, listen carefully."
"I'm listening."
"If Laya has private medical information she wasn't entitled to receive, I want to know exactly how she obtained it."
"All right."
"And I want you to stop treating this like a problem your lawyers can make disappear."
He was silent.
"This happened because you let people act in your name."
His voice was quiet.
"I know."
I looked at Sophie.
She had started stirring.
Her small mouth opened.
She was hungry.
My daughter needed me.
And unlike the people trying to control my life, she had never asked me to be anything other than present.
"I have to feed Sophie," I said.
Roman's voice softened.
"Can I hear her?"
I hesitated.
Then I held the phone near the bassinet.
Sophie made a tiny squeaking sound.
Roman was silent for several seconds.
Then he whispered, "Hi, sweetheart."
His voice broke.
I closed my eyes.
When I finally ended the call, I understood something painful.
Roman was capable of loving our daughter.
He might even become a good father.
May you like
But that did not automatically make him a good husband.
And I was no longer willing to confuse the two.
