Chapter 6 - The Price of Coming Back

Vincent came to the house on a Thursday with no flowers, no jewelry and no offer to buy me a different home. He had asked to speak before his visit with Grace, and I agreed to twenty minutes while Margaret stayed nearby.

I placed Sophia's itinerary on the small kitchen table. Beside it was the message I'd received after asking about the hospital alert. He saw both and remained standing until I indicated the chair across from mine.

"Did you read it?" I asked.

"I saw an alert," he said. "I need to check exactly what it showed."

"Sophia watched you read it."

He closed his eyes briefly. "You've spoken to Sophia?"

"Yes. She told me about the negotiations. And the dinner. And the phone on the table."

He looked at the paper. "She shouldn't have involved you."

"You involved me when you left. Tell me the truth."

His fingers lay motionless near the edge of the table. After a moment he said, "I knew someone from the hospital had tried to reach me. I told myself it could wait until I finished the evening."

"And the message after that? The one your assistant sent?"

"I've asked Daniel to pull the complete record. I don't want to say I saw something I can't remember seeing."

I watched his face. A year earlier, I would have reached across the table and taken his hand. I would have tried to help him assemble a version of the evening that didn't hurt either of us so much.

Now I needed him to do the work himself.

"All right," I said. "Then don't ask me to believe a convenient memory. Find out."

He nodded.

Grace began to fuss in the other room. I went to her, leaving him alone with the itinerary. By the time I returned, Margaret had settled her in the living room and Vincent was looking toward the doorway.

"Would you like to see her?" I asked.

"Very much."

His visit was quieter than the first two. He changed a diaper with less hesitation. When Grace cried, he didn't immediately hand her to me. He asked what she needed, checked her bottle and waited for me to show him how to hold her while she fed.

I noticed the effort. I also noticed how natural it still was for me to wait for disappointment.

"Could I come every day?" he asked when she'd fallen asleep.

"Not without planning it," I said. "She needs a routine, and so do I. Let's keep to the schedule Naomi and your attorney are preparing."

"I don't like having to make appointments to see my daughter."

"I didn't like having to call your office while I was giving birth. We both have things we dislike."

He looked at Grace for a long moment, then said, "You're right."

This time he didn't sound as though the words cost him his pride. He sounded tired of hearing himself explain why he wasn't where he needed to be.

After he left, Naomi telephoned. Vincent's attorney had sent a preliminary proposal. It included generous financial support and a promise to establish an account for Grace's education. It also requested that I return with Grace to the mansion while negotiations continued, describing it as the most suitable residence for an infant because of its space and staff.

"We are not obligated to agree to that," Naomi said before I could answer.

"Do they think I can't care for my baby in a smaller house?"

"Their letter doesn't say that. But it treats the size of his home as though it settles the question. It doesn't."

I looked around our living room. There were still boxes against one wall. My grandmother's recipe box sat beside a lamp that leaned slightly to the left. Grace's blanket was folded over the sofa. Everything in the room had a reason to be there.

"I will not move back," I said.

"Then we'll make that clear."

The following day, Vincent called to apologize for the proposed condition. He said the request had come from the first draft prepared by his legal team. He hadn't discussed it with me because he'd hoped we'd reconcile.

"Did you approve the proposal?" I asked.

"I let them send it."

"Then it's yours, Vincent. Don't make your attorney responsible for choices you allowed."

"I'll withdraw that condition."

"Thank you."

The response came easily. I could be grateful for a correct decision without mistaking it for a repaired marriage.

We worked through smaller matters over the following days. Vincent wanted updates about Grace. I suggested a shared calendar for visits and a short message if her health or care changed. He agreed. He offered to transfer money directly into my personal account. I asked that support for Grace be addressed properly in our agreement. I had left the mansion because I wanted a separate life, not because I was refusing the responsibilities we both had to our daughter.

Margaret came by one afternoon after finishing her work at the mansion. She told me Vincent had asked her whether I'd always been as tired during the pregnancy as she remembered.

"What did you say?" I asked.

"I said you were tired enough to need help and proud enough not to demand it. Then I told him I hoped he wouldn't make Grace learn that lesson from you."

I laughed, though my eyes stung. "You probably shouldn't have said that to your employer."

"Perhaps not." She smiled faintly. "But he asked."

I wondered how long he could bear to listen if the answers stopped flattering him. It was easier to impress a child with a lavish room than to care for one every ordinary day. I was beginning to learn that parenthood was made of repeated acts no one applauded.

Late that evening, Daniel Shaw's office sent Naomi the full record from the secure communication system Vincent's company used when he traveled. It showed the hospital call, the message entered by the Chicago receptionist and the urgent alert transmitted to his private device.

Naomi phoned me rather than forwarding the entire file without explanation.

"There is an acknowledgment attached," she said.

"What does that mean?"

"The alert wasn't merely delivered. It was opened on Vincent's device."

I sat down on the edge of my bed. Grace was sleeping a few feet away, safe in her bassinet.

"Does it say what the alert contained?"

"Yes. Daniel's note says you had been admitted in labor and asks Vincent to call the hospital or you immediately."

I couldn't answer.

"Emily?"

"I'm here."

"You don't have to decide anything tonight. We can discuss how to address it at our meeting."

I thanked her and ended the call. The room was still except for Grace's faint breathing.

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Vincent had told me he didn't know she'd been born. That much might still be true. But an opened message had told him labor had begun, and he had allowed our daughter to enter the world without a word to her mother.

The uncertainty I'd carried since the hospital was gone. In its place was a truth I would need to hear him say aloud.