“Sophia contacted Claire’s doctor?”

Vincent stared at Amelia.

His wife’s sister stood outside the intensive care unit with a stack of documents against her chest.

“Yes,” Amelia answered. “Three times.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Then perhaps you should stop pretending you know everything that happens inside your own house.”

Vincent opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

Amelia showed him a printed message Claire had received six weeks earlier.

Mrs. Moretti, we received an inquiry requesting information about your delivery plan. We did not release your records, but we wanted to verify whether you authorized the contact.

Below it was the telephone number used for the inquiry.

Sophia’s.

Vincent recognized it immediately.

His jaw тιԍнтened.

“Why would she do that?”

Amelia looked at him with disbelief.

“You really don’t know?”

He shook his head.

“Claire found out Sophia had been asking the household staff whether the baby would change your inheritance arrangements,” Amelia said.

Vincent felt cold.

His grandfather had recently announced plans to establish a family trust for Vincent’s first child.

Sophia knew about it.

She’d attended the dinner where the announcement was made.

But Vincent had never imagined she would interfere with Claire’s medical care or ask questions about their unborn baby.

Amelia continued.

“Claire was worried. She asked you to speak to Sophia.”

Vincent remembered.

Three weeks earlier, Claire had entered his study.

“Vincent, I don’t want Sophia involved in anything concerning our baby.”

He’d barely looked up.

“Stop being jealous.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

He’d dismissed her.

Now those words haunted him.

The next morning, Vincent’s daughter remained in neonatal intensive care.

She weighed just three pounds, two ounces.

A tiny breathing-support device rested against her face.

Her fingers were smaller than anything Vincent had ever held.

When the medical team allowed him to see her, he stood beside the incubator, unable to speak.

“Her name is Rose,” a nurse told him.

Vincent turned.

“Rose?”

“Your wife chose it.”

He stared at his daughter.

Claire had once said that if they ever had a girl, she wanted to name her after the roses her mother grew in their old backyard.

Vincent had forgotten.

Claire hadn’t.

He placed one finger against the incubator’s access opening, following the nurse’s instructions.

Rose’s tiny hand curled around it.

And the man who had never been afraid of anyone began crying.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’m your father.”

Then he stopped.

Because he realized how little that тιтle meant without the willingness to act like one.

At the Moretti mansion, Sophia was furious.

She had called Vincent more than thirty times.

When he finally returned to collect some clothes, she was waiting in the entrance hall.

“Vincent! You disappeared in the middle of the celebration!”

He walked past her.

“Claire nearly died.”

Sophia folded her arms.

“But she didn’t.”

Vincent stopped.

Slowly, he turned.

“What did you say?”

Sophia’s expression shifted.

“I mean, she’s obviously getting the best medical care.”

Vincent stared at her.

Then he remembered the previous night.

His ᴀssistant telling him Claire was in critical condition.

Sophia grabbing his sleeve.

Complaining about her ankle.

Begging him not to abandon her.

“Sophia,” he said quietly, “was your ankle actually injured?”

She looked offended.

“Of course!”

“Which one?”

She hesitated.

“What?”

“Which ankle?”

Her eyes moved toward the staircase.

Vincent looked down.

She was wearing high heels.

Walking without difficulty.

Then he noticed something else.

A small stack of papers on the hallway table.

A proposal from the family estate attorney.

It concerned the trust Vincent’s grandfather planned to establish for Rose.

Sophia followed his gaze.

“Vincent, don’t—”

He picked it up.

There were handwritten notes in the margins.

Questions about who could access the trust.

Who could manage the child’s ᴀssets.

And what would happen if Claire were no longer able to care for the baby.

He stared at the handwriting.

Sophia’s.

His stomach turned.

“Why were you asking these questions?”

She looked away.

“I was just trying to protect you.”

“From my wife?”

“From a woman who was going to take your child and your money!”

Vincent felt something inside him collapse.

Claire had spent years defending Sophia.

Allowing her into their home.

Welcoming her at family holidays.

Pretending not to notice the intimacy Vincent insisted was innocent.

And Sophia had repaid her by treating her pregnancy as a threat.

Vincent set down the papers.

“You’re leaving this house.”

Sophia laughed nervously.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes.”

Her face hardened.

“You’d throw away everything we’ve had for Claire?”

Vincent looked at her.

“No. I threw away my marriage because I refused to see what I was doing.”

Sophia began crying.

But this time, he didn’t move to comfort her.

That afternoon, Vincent received a call from the hospital.

Claire was awake.

He rushed there.

When he reached her room, Amelia was standing beside the bed.

Claire looked pale.

Exhausted.

There were tubes attached to her arm and a monitor beside her.

But her eyes were open.

Vincent stopped in the doorway.

“Claire.”

She looked at him.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then she asked:

“How’s Rose?”

His voice broke.

“She’s fighting. The doctors are taking good care of her.”

Claire closed her eyes in relief.

“Good.”

Vincent took one step toward her.

“I’m so sorry.”

She looked away.

“Vincent, don’t.”

He froze.

“I know I failed you.”

She swallowed.

“You didn’t just fail me.”

Tears gathered in her eyes.

“You taught me that I came second in my own marriage.”

He lowered his head.

“I was wrong.”

“Yes.”

“I told Sophia to leave.”

Claire stared at him.

Then whispered:

“That doesn’t undo five years.”

He began crying.

“I know.”

For the first time, Claire didn’t comfort him.

She simply reached toward the glᴀss of water Amelia had placed beside her.

Amelia helped her drink.

Vincent stood watching.

And suddenly, he understood how many times his wife must have needed that kind of simple kindness while he was somewhere else.

Then Claire asked him something unexpected.

“Did you tell your grandfather about Rose?”

Vincent nodded.

“He knows. He wants to meet her when she’s strong enough.”

Claire looked toward Amelia.

Her sister hesitated.

Then handed Vincent another envelope.

“Your grandfather came here this morning,” Amelia said.

Vincent frowned.

“He did?”

“Yes. He spoke with Claire’s attorney.”

His chest тιԍнтened.

“About what?”

Claire looked directly at him.

“About the future of the Moretti family trust.”

Vincent went still.

Then Amelia continued.

“Your grandfather has been reviewing the family arrangements since learning what happened at the hospital.”

Vincent stared at the envelope.

Inside was a letter bearing his grandfather’s signature.

He opened it.

The first line made his heart stop.

Vincent, I built this family so that my children would have something to protect.

Not so they could become men from whom their own families needed protection.

Vincent looked up.

Claire was watching him quietly.

Then she whispered:

“There’s something else, Vincent.”

His breath caught.

“What?”

“Your grandfather asked me one question this morning.”

She paused.

“Whether I wanted Rose to grow up in the Moretti mansion.”

Vincent stared at her.

“And what did you say?”

Claire took a slow breath.

“I told him that until you learn the difference between love and control, our daughter and I will never live under that roof again.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Should Vincent get another chance, or has Claire already sacrificed too much? Comment “PART 3” for the final chapter.