Chapter 11
For a second, he seemed terrified to move.
Lily made a tiny sound and turned her face toward his chest.
Vincent closed his eyes.
"Hi."
It was barely a whisper.
"I'm your dad."
My throat tightened.
He looked at me.
"When was she born?"
"Tuesday. Four thirty-seven in the afternoon."
"Was it—"
He stopped.
"Was everything okay?"
"Eventually."
His face went pale.
"What does that mean?"
"It means labor was long. It means I was scared. It means Dr. Patel took care of me."
He looked down at Lily.
"Why didn't someone tell me it was serious?"
I stared at him.
"I told you I was in labor."
"I was trying to leave."
"You stayed thirteen days."
His eyes came back to mine.
"Sophia's mother—"
"Don't."
"Emily, she had surgery. Sophia was alone and—"
"I was giving birth to your daughter."
"I know."
"No. You keep saying that."
I stepped closer.
"But every time you say it, you add something after it."
His expression tightened.
"I know, but the flight—"
"I know, but Sophia needed me."
"I know, but her mother was sick."
"I know, but you were trying."
I shook my head.
"There is no 'but' after your wife gave birth alone."
Silence filled the small living room.
Lily slept through it.
Vincent looked down at her again.
"What do you want me to say?"
That question surprised me.
Once, I would have had a thousand answers.
Tell me you love me.
Tell me you choose me.
Tell me Sophia doesn't matter.
Tell me our marriage mattered.
Tell me I wasn't foolish for spending years trying to make you happy.
Now?
"Nothing."
His head lifted.
"I don't need words anymore."
"You're my wife."
"For now."
His eyes hardened.
"Don't say that."
"Why?"
"Because we're not getting divorced."
There he was.
Vincent Moretti.
A man so accustomed to controlling outcomes that he mistook denial for authority.
I almost smiled.
"You don't get to decide that alone."
"We have a daughter."
"That didn't stop you from getting on a plane."
He flinched.
Good.
Not because I wanted to hurt him.
Because truth should hurt when someone has avoided it long enough.
He looked around the living room for the first time.
"You can't stay here."
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
"Excuse me?"
"This house isn't secure."
"It has locks."
"Emily."
"It has neighbors. A police station six blocks away. A school across the street. People live here every day without armed men at the end of their driveway."