Chapter 2
Something cold moved through him.
Not rage.
Understanding.
And understanding was worse.
Ethan placed a third record on the desk.
“Certified letter. Returned by building security.”
“Why?”
Ethan slid the routing record forward.
There it was.
PR-7.
Personal restriction.
Vincent knew that code.
Because he had created it.
His memory dragged him back thirteen months.
He had been in a meeting when his driver interrupted.
Claire called.
She said it might be urgent.
Vincent had been exhausted.
Angry.
Still wounded.
He had believed Claire was trying to pull him back into the chaos of their separation.
So he had told Ethan afterward, “Anything personal from Claire goes through administration first. No exceptions.”
No exceptions.
Three words.
Spoken once.
Forgotten by morning.
Obeyed for a year.
Vincent sat down.
“This one was me.”
Ethan said nothing.
Vanessa seized the opening.
“Exactly. You wanted distance.”
Vincent’s gaze lifted.
“I wanted distance from conflict.”
“You told us—”
“I did not tell you to decide whether I was allowed to know my wife was carrying my children.”
Vanessa’s eyes flashed.
“She walked out because she saw me in your room.”
“And you let her believe what she thought.”
“So did you.”
That landed.
Vincent leaned back.
Vanessa continued.
“You never called her.”
“No.”
“You never asked why she left.”
“No.”
“You never checked whether she was okay.”
“No.”
“Then stop pretending I created this entire disaster.”
Vincent stared at her.
For once, she was not entirely wrong.
That realization made him hate the situation more, not less.
Ethan placed the fourth page down.
“Notification four went through your attorney.”
Returned to administration.
Vanessa had archived it.
Notification five was thicker.
Vincent saw the heading before Ethan said anything.
Birth announcement.
His hand froze.
Emma Grace Morgan-Moretti.
Noah James Morgan-Moretti.
Born at thirty-four weeks.
He read the birth times.
Emma first.
Noah four minutes later.
Stable.
He imagined Claire in a hospital bed.
Alone except perhaps for her sister.
He imagined her waiting for him.
Or worse, not waiting anymore.
“Returned?”
Vincent asked.
Ethan nodded.
“PR-7.”
The code Vincent created.
His own machinery had rejected the announcement that he had become a father.
There was one final notice.
Updated pediatric records.
Eight weeks after the birth.
A request for acknowledgment.
Returned.
Vincent sat in silence.
Vanessa shifted.
“I never saw the last two.”
He looked at her.
She continued.
“And I’m sorry about the first ones. Fine. I should have forwarded them. But don’t turn Claire into some saint. She could have come here herself.”