Chương 7
The next morning, I woke up before my alarm because my daughter had decided that sunrise was a reasonable time to announce she existed.
I lay there for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling.
The apartment was quiet.
Not the empty kind of quiet I had known after Grant left.
This was different.
There was a small sound coming from the bassinet beside the bed.
A tiny complaint.
A reminder.
A demand from someone who had no idea the world was complicated.
I turned toward her.
“Already making decisions for everyone?”
Her eyes were still closed.
She moved her mouth slightly, as if she disagreed with my accusation.
I smiled.
“Okay.”
I picked her up carefully.
“I’ll pretend that wasn’t a yes.”
The strange thing about becoming a mother was how quickly fear and love became connected.
Every small sound made me nervous.
Every small movement made me happy.
I had spent months imagining what she would look like.
I never imagined I would know her expressions before she knew anything else.
Dominic was asleep on the couch.
He had stayed again.
I had told him there was no reason.
He had ignored me.
At first, that would have annoyed me.
Now, I found it comforting.
He had become one of the few people in my life who did not make promises.
He simply appeared.
I walked toward the kitchen with my daughter against my shoulder.
The coffee machine was still the same one Grant bought during our first year of marriage.
A ridiculous purchase.
Expensive.
Overcomplicated.
Grant loved things that announced themselves.
The machine made twelve different drinks.
Neither of us knew how to use seven of them.
I pressed the button for regular coffee.
The only setting that mattered.
Behind me, Dominic spoke.
“You’re awake.”
I turned.
“You say that like it’s surprising.”
“It’s five in the morning.”
“I have a newborn.”
“That is a reasonable explanation.”
He sat up and rubbed his face.
For a moment, he looked less like Dominic Moretti and more like a tired man who had not slept enough.
It was strange seeing that side of him.
Almost uncomfortable.
People like him were not supposed to look ordinary.
They were supposed to remain distant.
Untouchable.
But there he was, wearing yesterday’s shirt, sitting on my couch with a blanket half covering him because apparently even dangerous men got cold.
“You should go home,” I said.
“No.”
I sighed.
“You don’t even pretend to consider it.”
“I considered it.”
“When?”
“While you were saying it.”
I looked at him.
“That doesn’t count.”
“It counted emotionally.”
I laughed quietly.
Then my smile faded when I saw the phone on the counter.
The headlines were still there.
The messages.
The strangers asking questions about my daughter.
My stomach tightened.
Dominic noticed immediately.
“You don’t have to look.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying you know.”
“Because I do.”
He nodded.
Fair.
I picked up the phone anyway.
The first message was from Melissa.
Call me when you wake up.
The second was from a number I recognized.
Grant’s assistant.
I almost ignored it.
Then I opened it.
Mr. Kingsley would like to schedule a meeting regarding custody arrangements.
I stared at the words.
Custody arrangements.
Two days.
That was how long my daughter had been alive.
Two days.
And already someone had reduced her existence to paperwork.
I showed Dominic.
His expression changed.
“Too fast.”
“What?”
“He’s moving faster than expected.”
“Why?”
“Because he knows the longer people watch, the harder it becomes to control the story.”
I hated that phrase.
Control the story.
As if my life was something written for an audience.
As if my daughter’s birth was not a human event but a public relations problem.
I called Melissa.
She answered immediately.
“You saw it?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“I needed to know you understood what he’s doing.”
“What is he doing?”
“He’s creating a record.”
I leaned against the counter.
“A record of what?”
“That he attempted contact.”
I felt anger rise.
“He called once.”
“He called after making statements publicly.”
“He didn’t ask about her.”
“I know.”
There it was again.
That phrase.
I know.
I closed my eyes.
“Everyone knows, but nobody can stop it.”
Melissa was quiet.
Then she said, “Claire.”
Something in her voice made me listen.
“Do not underestimate how much documentation matters now.”
I looked at my daughter.
“She’s a baby.”
“I know.”
“Everything is becoming evidence.”
“Because Grant is making it that way.”
I hated how quickly my personal life had become a collection of timestamps.
Calls.
Messages.
Appointments.
Receipts.
Proof that I existed.
Proof that I told the truth.
Proof that I had not done what someone accused me of doing.
After the call ended, I stood in the kitchen holding my coffee.
It had gone cold.
I had not noticed.
Dominic walked over.
“Eat something.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat.”
“I know.”
He gave me a look.
I almost smiled.
“You’re becoming annoying.”
“I was always annoying.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“You were intimidating.”
“Better.”
“Not really.”
He accepted that.
I made toast because arguing with Dominic was apparently less efficient than eating.
While I stood there, my daughter slept in her carrier nearby.
The ordinary scene almost made me forget everything.
Almost.
Then there was a knock.
Not a polite knock.
A confident one.
Dominic immediately looked toward the door.
My body reacted before my mind did.
Old habits.
Fear first.
Reason second.
He noticed.
“You okay?”
I nodded.
But I was not.
Not completely.
He moved closer to the entrance.
“Who is it?”
A voice answered.
“Claire?”
My heart stopped.
I knew that voice.
Not Grant.
Sienna.
I looked at Dominic.
His expression became unreadable.
“Do you want to see her?”
I did not answer immediately.
That was the problem.
Part of me wanted to open the door.
Not because I missed her.
Because I wanted to know why.
Why she was here.
Why now.
May you like
Why after everything.
Dominic waited.
