Chapter 11
“I’ll show up.”
“For how long?”
“As long as they’ll let me.”
Claire looked away.
Before she could answer, a nurse appeared.
“Mrs. Moretti?”
Claire’s heart jumped.
“Is Noah awake?”
“He’s beginning to wake up.”
Claire immediately moved to get out of bed.
The nurse laughed softly.
“Wheelchair.”
“I can walk.”
“Wheelchair.”
Claire opened her mouth.
Vincent almost spoke.
Then stopped himself.
Claire noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You were going to say something.”
“I was going to tell you to listen to the nurse.”
Despite everything, Claire gave him a look that was so familiar it hurt.
“I am a nurse.”
“Apparently that makes you worse.”
For one brief second, Claire almost laughed.
The sound never fully came.
But something shifted.
Tiny.
Fragile.
Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
The nurse brought the wheelchair.
Vincent stood back as Claire transferred carefully into it.
Then she looked at him.
“Are you coming?”
Vincent froze.
It was the smallest invitation Claire had ever given him.
And somehow the most important.
“Yes.”
They walked through the quiet hospital corridor together.
Claire in the wheelchair.
Vincent several steps behind.
When they reached recovery, Noah was sleeping beneath a warm blanket.
Tiny.
Pale.
Safe.
Claire reached through the crib rail and touched his hand.
Noah’s fingers closed around one of hers.
Vincent stopped beside her.
His son.
His son.
The words still felt impossible.
Claire looked up.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then Noah’s tiny hand opened.
Vincent hesitated.
Claire saw him.
And after several seconds, she moved her finger aside.
Making room.
Vincent slowly placed one finger into his son’s palm.
Noah grabbed it.
Vincent Moretti broke.
No dramatic collapse.
No shouting.
Just one tear.
Then another.
He lowered his head while his infant son held his finger with impossible strength.
Claire watched silently.
Vincent whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Claire didn’t know whether he was speaking to her.
Or Noah.
Or both.
Then his phone vibrated.
Vincent ignored it.
It vibrated again.
And again.
Finally, Claire said, “You should check.”
He pulled it out.
Ethan.
Three messages.
Vincent opened the first.
His expression changed immediately.
Claire noticed.
“What?”
Vincent read the second message.
Then the third.
His face went cold.
“Vincent.”
He looked at her.
“Vanessa didn’t go home.”
Claire’s stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
Vincent turned the phone toward her.
Ethan had sent a photograph from security.
Vanessa entering a private records office twenty minutes earlier.