Chapter 1 - The Secret Behind the Hospital Door
"There's something Claire doesn't know about Vanessa."
Vincent Moretti's voice came through the staff lounge door, low enough that I almost missed it.
I sat motionless on the floor.
My attorney, Rebecca Collins, answered immediately.
"Whatever you need to say, Mr. Moretti, you can say it through counsel."
"You don't understand."
"Then explain."
A long silence followed.
Then Vincent whispered, "Vanessa isn't supposed to be pregnant."
My fingers went cold.
Outside, Rebecca said nothing.
Vincent continued.
"Three months ago, she told me she'd undergone surgery. She said her doctors warned her another pregnancy would be dangerous."
I stared at the door.
That didn't make sense.
Vanessa was eight weeks pregnant.
And she'd told me she and Vincent had been trying for a baby for three years.
"That sounds like a conversation you should have with her physician," Rebecca replied. "Not my client."
"Rebecca, I think someone has been lying to me."
I almost laughed.
He thought someone was lying to him.
The irony was painful enough to make my chest tighten.
I pushed myself to my feet.
Opened the door.
And faced the man I'd loved for five years.
Vincent turned immediately.
"Claire."
His hair was disheveled. His expensive coat was wrinkled, and his eyes were bloodshot.
For the first time in months, he looked genuinely frightened.
But I couldn't forget how he'd held Vanessa's hand.
How he'd called her baby.
How he'd asked about their child without once wondering whether his wife was all right.
"Whatever Vanessa told you," I said, "doesn't change what you've done."
Vincent took one step toward me.
"Claire, please."
"No."
He stopped.
I looked at Rebecca.
"Can we finish this tomorrow?"
"Of course."
Vincent stared at the divorce papers.
"You're really leaving me?"
I met his eyes.
"I already left, Vincent. You just didn't notice."
Something broke in his expression.
Before he could answer, my colleague Dr. Maya Chen hurried toward us.
"Claire, I need you."
I immediately straightened.
"What's wrong?"
Maya glanced at Vincent, then lowered her voice.
"Vanessa's bloodwork came back."
My stomach tightened.
"Her hemoglobin?"
"Stable."
"Then what?"
Maya hesitated.
"Her pregnancy records contain a serious discrepancy."
I looked toward the hallway.
"What discrepancy?"
"She claims she's been receiving prenatal care at Westbridge Women's Clinic."
I nodded.
"That's what she told the triage nurse."
Maya's expression darkened.
"Westbridge says they have no record of her pregnancy."
Vincent stepped forward.
"That's impossible."
Maya looked at him.
"Mr. Moretti, patient records are confidential. We can't discuss her care with you unless she's authorized it."
I appreciated that she didn't make an exception because he was wealthy.
I looked toward the emergency department.
"Let the treating obstetrician handle it. I'm removing myself from her case."
Maya nodded.
"That's probably wise."
Vincent stared.
"Claire, wait."
I turned.
"What now?"
His voice trembled.
"Vanessa told me she'd been pregnant before."
I felt a strange chill.
"How many times?"
"Twice."
"And?"
"She said she lost both pregnancies."
I swallowed.
The words hit painfully close to home.
I'd lost a child too.
But Vincent continued.
"She blamed my mother."
I frowned.
"Your mother?"
"My mother supposedly arranged for her doctors to refuse treatment. Vanessa said that's why she never told me about the pregnancies until recently."
I stared.
His mother, Sofia Moretti, had never approved of Vanessa.
I'd known that.
But something in his story felt wrong.
"Vincent, your mother's been dead for two years."
He nodded miserably.
"I know."
I took a breath.
"Then how could she have been interfering with Vanessa's medical care three months ago?"
Vincent went completely still.
His mouth opened.
Then closed.
He looked as though someone had finally forced him to confront a question he'd spent months avoiding.
My phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number appeared.
It contained a photograph.
Vanessa.
Standing beside my mother-in-law's grave.
The photograph was dated six months earlier.
Beneath it were seven words.
Ask Vincent what his mother left you.
I stared.
My heartbeat accelerated.
Sofia Moretti had always treated me like a daughter.
She'd held me after my miscarriage.
She'd once told me, "Claire, this family has secrets you should never have to carry."
At the time, I thought she meant Vincent's business.
Now I wasn't sure.
I looked up.
"Vincent."
He turned.
"What did your mother leave me?"
May you like
His face drained of color.
And for the first time that night, my husband looked more frightened of the truth than of losing our marriage.
