Chapter 9 - THE ROOM THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN OUR NURSERY
I had once imagined that guest room filled with sunlight and children's laughter.
Vincent had promised we'd turn it into a nursery when the time was right.
But every year, the time moved further away.
One more acquisition.
One more expansion.
One more board meeting.
Now Vanessa had apparently renovated it for herself.
I stared at the photograph.
The yellow walls.
The white crib.
The rocking chair beside the window.
My chest ached.
Not because I wanted the room.
Because I'd spent years believing Vincent and I were building toward something together.
And Vanessa had quietly begun decorating the future I was never allowed to have.
Rachel watched my face.
"Claire, you don't have to look at this."
I shook my head.
"I need to."
Not to punish myself.
But because I was finished hiding from reality.
That afternoon, I made a decision.
I wanted my own home.
Not Olivia's guest room.
Not Vincent's mansion.
Somewhere I could heal without feeling like a visitor.
Rachel helped me find a quiet townhouse near Lake Michigan.
It had a small garden.
A sunny kitchen.
And a room overlooking the water.
I signed the lease myself.
Using money from an account Vincent didn't control.
For the first time in years, nobody asked why I needed something.
Nobody demanded a justification.
Nobody checked my purchases.
I bought blue curtains.
A soft gray couch.
And a small vase for the dining table.
Ordinary things.
But each one felt like freedom.
Meanwhile, Vincent discovered Vanessa's nursery renovations.
He stood inside the room, staring at the white crib.
"Who authorized this?"
Mrs. Alvarez looked uncomfortable.
"Miss Reed, sir."
Vincent's expression hardened.
"Why?"
"She said you wanted the room prepared."
Vincent looked around.
There were tiny clothes hanging inside the closet.
A framed picture of a teddy bear.
A stack of unopened baby blankets.
His throat tightened.
Claire had wanted a nursery for years.
He'd kept telling her to wait.
Now someone else had filled the room with things his wife had once dreamed of buying.
He turned away.
"Remove everything Vanessa installed. Preserve the invoices and messages for the investigation."
Mrs. Alvarez nodded.
Then hesitated.
"Sir, there's something you should know."
Vincent stopped.
"What?"
"Mrs. Moretti used to come into this room."
His expression changed.
"When?"
"Whenever you were traveling."
She looked down.
"Sometimes I'd find her sitting by the window."
Vincent closed his eyes.
Mrs. Alvarez continued.
"She kept a small box beneath the bed."
His heart pounded.
"What box?"
The housekeeper opened the storage closet.
Inside was a pale blue wooden box.
Vincent lifted the lid.
There were baby-name lists.
A tiny knitted sweater.
And a photograph from their wedding day.
He covered his mouth.
Claire had been hoping for a family all along.
Then he noticed a folded letter beneath the sweater.
His name was written on the front.
He opened it.
Vincent,
If we ever have a baby, I hope you remember how to come home.
The words shattered him.
But the final sentence was worse.
I don't want our child to learn that love only happens between eight and eight-fifteen.
Vincent sank onto the floor.
May you like
And for the first time, he understood that Claire hadn't left because she stopped loving him.
She'd left because loving him had become a place where she couldn't breathe.
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