Chapter 4

By the fourth day my fever had climbed to a hundred and two.

A nurse came to me with a form.

"For a fever over a hundred and two, we need a family member to authorize the medication."

I called Alfred.

The first call, the second call, no answer.

The third went straight to a dead line.

Half an hour later, Jeanette posted to her feed.

In the photo, Alfred stood at the floor-to-ceiling window with Edmund in his arms.

The caption read:

【Daddy got the baby to sleep for the first time. Clumsy hands, but so gentle.】

I stared at that photo for a long time.

I remembered him holding my hand, telling me,

"Emily, once the project takes off, I'll put you in the finest house we can find. Our child will have the brightest room in it."

Now the project had taken off.

The finest house went to Jeanette.

The brightest room went to her son.

My daughter lay in an ordinary ward.

The father's line on her records blank, and even a can of formula had to be given up for someone else.

At three in the afternoon, Alfred finally showed up.

A lawyer in a suit followed behind him.

When the folder landed on my bedside table, the fever pulled the room in and out of darkness.

First page, a nondisclosure agreement.

Second page, a custody agreement.

Third page, a draft divorce agreement.

The terms were spelled out plainly.

Our daughter would take my surname.

The father's information would not be disclosed.

I was not to interfere, in any form, with the normal family life of Alfred and Jeanette.

"Normal family."

Those two words worked like a dull blade, cutting into my chest, one stroke at a time.

They had flowers, a suite, a party for the eldest grandson.

Vivienne and I were to be hidden away.

No crying, no scenes, no one allowed to know.

Alfred pushed a bank card across to me.

"Eight million, plus a house in Savannah. Vivienne's schooling from here on, I'll cover all of it."

Vivienne stirred in my arms.

Her tiny hand gripped the collar of my hospital gown, gripped it tight.

Alfred sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Emily, it's not that I don't want you two. After the eldest-grandson party tonight, I'll take you and the baby to the postpartum care center myself. From now on I'll have your whole life arranged."

My marriage, my daughter, six years of everything I had swallowed down.

In his mouth it was only a problem that needed arranging.

The lawyer held out a receipt for me to sign.

"Ms. Stephens, just your signature here."

I took the pen, my fingers shaking so hard I could barely hold it.

The moment I finished writing my name,

Alfred visibly let out a breath.

He thought I'd accepted it.

His phone rang.

Jeanette's voice came through the speaker, thick with tears.

"Alfred, Edmund spit up. Your mother says you have to be at the party tonight."

Alfred glanced at me.

For one instant there was hesitation in that look.

I held Vivienne and waited, quietly.

Waited for him to hang up.

Waited for him to say he wouldn't go tonight.

Waited for him to say he'd stay with us first.

He stood up.

"Emily, I'll be back soon."

I nodded.

"Okay."

After the door closed, sitting there on the bed, all at once I understood everything.

You don't stop loving someone in a single moment.

It's the times you wait and no one comes, the times you're left behind, one after another.

Until at last you don't dare wait anymore.

At eight that evening, the Finley family's eldest-grandson party started right on time.

A Finley relative posted to their feed, then deleted it a few minutes later.

But I'd taken a screenshot.

In the video, Alfred stood beside Jeanette with Edmund in his arms, and someone, wine glass in hand, laughed and asked,

"Alfred, that woman at the hospital, how are you handling her? She won't bring trouble to the old house, will she?"

Alfred was quiet for two seconds.

"She can't leave me."

Someone nearby laughed. "You're that sure?"

Alfred set down his glass, his voice low.

"She's gone through six hard years with me. What she's most afraid of is me not wanting her. I'll smooth things over, and she'll come around."

The video ended there.

I set the phone down and looked at Vivienne for a long time.

So he had known all along.

That I was afraid of being left.

That I couldn't let go of those six years.

That one look back from him and I'd soften.

That was why he'd dared to make me endure it, again and again.

To make me hold my newborn daughter and step aside for them.

I wiped the tears off my face.

Wrapped Vivienne up snug.

At four in the morning, the first express train from New York bound south pulled out of the station.