My husband was in Paris with the woman he had never stopped loving when I went into labor with our daughter.Chapter 1: PART 1: THE NIGHT HE WASN’T THERE

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Chapter 4

THEME:
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Stay.

Listen.

Choose me.

By noon, labor had become difficult enough that I stopped checking my phone.

At 2:14 p.m., I screamed Vincent's name once.

I hated myself for it immediately.

At 4:37, our daughter was born.

Seven pounds, three ounces.

Dark hair.

Tiny fists.

A furious cry that filled the room.

Then the nurse placed her against my chest.

Every sound disappeared.

I looked down at her face and began sobbing.

Not because Vincent wasn't there.

Not anymore.

Because she was.

My daughter.

My beautiful daughter.

"Hello," I whispered.

Her eyes stayed closed.

I touched one finger to her cheek.

"You and me."

Margaret stood near the window crying into both hands.

Dr. Patel smiled.

"Have you decided on her name?"

I had.

Vincent and I had argued about names for weeks.

He liked traditional Moretti names.

I wanted something softer.

In the end, we had agreed on Lily Rose Moretti.

I looked down at her.

"Lily," I said.

The name felt right.

My phone was on the table nearby.

Still silent.

Five hours later, a message finally came.

Not from Vincent.

From Anthony.

**Mr. Moretti has been informed. He will contact you as soon as possible.**

I stared at it.

Then I turned the phone facedown.

Vincent called the next morning.

I watched his name appear on the screen.

For years, that name had changed the rhythm of my heart.

That morning, I felt almost nothing.

The call ended.

He tried again six minutes later.

Then he sent a message.

**Emily. Call me.**

Another.

**Anthony said you went into labor. Are you okay?**

Then:

**I'm trying to rearrange the return flight.**

I looked at Lily sleeping beside me.

Trying.

I had spent years trying.

Trying not to be jealous.

Trying not to ask too much.

Trying to understand the demands of his life.

Trying to believe the moments when he was kind mattered more than all the moments when he was absent.

Trying to make a home out of a place where everything belonged to him.

I turned off my phone.

When Dr. Patel discharged us two days later, Margaret expected us to return to the mansion.

I did too.

At least until the car turned onto Lake Shore Drive.

Lily was asleep in her infant seat.

Snow from the previous week remained gray along the curb.

I watched Chicago pass through the window.

Then I said to the driver, "Take me to Oak Park first."

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