Chapter 3
Not someone he loved.
Then he left.
Thirty-one hours later, I was in labor.
I called him twice.
Then I called his personal assistant, Anthony.
Anthony answered immediately.
"Mrs. Moretti?"
"I'm in labor."
Silence.
"Oh God. Okay. Where is Mr. Moretti?"
"You tell me."
Another contraction tightened through my body.
I gripped the dresser.
"He's in Paris."
"Yes, ma'am. I mean—I'll contact him."
"I've already tried."
"I'll get him."
There was confidence in Anthony's voice.
Vincent's people always believed they could get Vincent.
Ten minutes later, Anthony called back.
His voice had changed.
"I reached his security detail."
"And?"
"They're informing him."
"Is he coming home?"
Another pause.
"I don't know yet."
That was the moment something inside me went cold.
Not because Vincent had definitely refused.
Not yet.
But because his wife was in labor and somebody had to inform him.
Like I was a postponed meeting.
Like our daughter was a scheduling conflict.
Margaret found me downstairs twenty minutes later.
She had worked in Vincent's home since before we were married.
She was in her late fifties, practical, warm, and incapable of pretending not to notice pain.
The second she saw me gripping the kitchen counter, her face changed.
"Emily?"
"It's time."
She didn't ask where Vincent was.
She already knew.
Within fifteen minutes, I was in the back of a car heading toward Northwestern Memorial Hospital with Margaret beside me.
Chicago was just waking up.
Coffee shops were turning on their lights.
Buses groaned through intersections.
People in winter coats hurried toward work while I pressed my forehead against the cool car window and breathed through contractions.
I kept looking at my phone.
Nothing.
At the hospital, nurses moved quickly.
Dr. Patel arrived not long after.
"Where's Vincent?"
"Paris."
She hesitated.
Then she placed a gentle hand on my arm.
"All right. We're going to take care of you."
It should not have made me cry.
But it did.
Because for months, I had told myself I didn't need tenderness.
Vincent provided security.
Protection.
Money.
A beautiful home.
He had assigned drivers when I became too pregnant to feel comfortable behind the wheel.
He had ordered the nursery redesigned three times because he disliked the first wallpaper.
He had bought our daughter a diamond bracelet she wouldn't be able to wear for years.
He had done everything money could do.
And I had allowed those things to stand in for what money couldn't do.