Chapter 9
Vincent stared at her.
"What happened?"
Margaret actually laughed once.
A sad, disbelieving sound.
"She gave birth."
"I know that."
"No, Mr. Moretti."
Margaret's voice broke.
"You know a baby was born. You don't know what happened."
He said nothing.
"She called for you."
His face tightened.
"I was trying to get back."
"She called for you while she was in labor."
"I called her."
"The next day."
Vincent looked down at the papers.
Margaret continued.
"She screamed your name in that hospital room."
That hit him.
She saw it.
"You weren't there."
"I couldn't leave immediately."
"You always leave immediately when Sophia calls."
Silence.
Margaret had worked for Vincent for almost fifteen years.
She had never spoken to him like that.
Maybe that was why he listened.
"She thought you would come," Margaret said. "Right up until she stopped thinking about you at all."
Vincent sank onto the edge of a chair.
He looked toward the empty staircase.
Then at the tiny blue shopping bag in his hand.
The blanket.
Thirteen days late.
"What did she name her?"
Margaret stared at him.
He didn't even know.
"Lily."
Vincent closed his eyes.
For the first time since Margaret had known him, Vincent Moretti looked like a man who had no idea what to do next.
Then his phone rang.
Sophia.
He stared at her name.
Margaret turned away.
A few seconds later, the ringing stopped.
Vincent called me again.
I didn't answer.
He sent one message.
**Emily, please tell me where my daughter is.**
I looked at Lily asleep in the crib beside my bed.
Then I typed back.
**Our daughter is safe. Frances Hale will contact your attorney tomorrow regarding visitation and the divorce.**
Three dots appeared immediately.
**I don't want to speak to an attorney. I want to speak to my wife.**
I read the sentence twice.
Then replied.
**You should have thought about that before Paris.**
I set the phone down.
Five minutes later, the doorbell rang.
And somehow, before I even reached the front window, I knew exactly who was standing on the porch.
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
PART 3: THIRTEEN DAYS TOO LATE
Vincent stood beneath the porch light holding the blue bag from Paris.
No security men.
No driver beside him.