Chapter 5 - THE FIRST TIME MY SON DIDN'T KNOW ME
Noah cried when Linda handed him to me.
Not a small whimper.
Not a sleepy complaint.
He screamed.
His face turned red.
His tiny hands pushed against my chest.
I felt like someone had punched through my ribs.
“Hey.”
I tried smiling.
“Hey, buddy.”
He screamed harder.
Linda watched from the bench.
She didn't look pleased.
She didn't look satisfied.
That somehow made it worse.
“What's wrong?”
“He’s three months old.”
“I know how old he is.”
“Then stop treating this like rejection.”
“He knows me.”
“He knows Claire’s smell.”
“Her voice.”
“Her heartbeat.”
“He’s been away from his usual environment.”
“Give him time.”
I bounced him gently.
I had seen Claire do it a thousand times.
Nothing.
I tried holding him against my shoulder.
Nothing.
Then Linda said,
“Walk.”
“What?”
“Slowly.”
I walked.
Twenty steps later, Noah’s screams became hiccups.
Then soft crying.
Then silence.
His cheek rested against my collarbone.
I stopped moving.
Linda said,
“Keep walking.”
So I did.
Around the path.
Past trees.
Past parents pushing strollers.
Past a father kneeling to tie his daughter’s shoe.
I had driven by this park for years.
I had never noticed how many fathers existed in the middle of ordinary mornings.
Men who weren't in offices.
Men holding bottles.
Men carrying diaper bags.
Men wearing spit-up on their shirts without acting like they deserved medals.
Noah’s fingers curled around my shirt.
I almost cried.
Then I smelled something.
Vanessa’s perfume.
Not actually there.
Memory.
For six months, I had returned home carrying another woman’s scent.
How many times had Claire held Noah after holding me?
How many times had she smelled the evidence before I even invented the lie?
I sat beside Linda.
“Where is Claire?”
“Safe.”
“I’m not asking for the address.”
“Good.”
“Is she okay?”
Linda looked at me.
“No.”
I swallowed.
“Is she eating?”
“Yes.”
“Sleeping?”
“More than before.”
That hurt.
“Does she hate me?”
Linda’s face softened slightly.
“I don't know.”
“Would you?”
“Yes.”
At least she was honest.
I looked down at Noah.
“Did she ever tell you?”
“About Vanessa?”
“Yes.”
“Not until three weeks ago.”
“How did she find out?”
Linda looked away.
“Claire followed you.”
My head snapped up.
“What?”
“One night.”
“When?”
“January.”
I remembered January.
A Wednesday.
I told Claire there was a late financing call.
I met Vanessa at an apartment I rented in Manhattan.
“She drove behind you?”
“No.”
“She hired someone?”
“No.”
Linda’s eyes sharpened.
“She followed the location of her own car.”
I froze.
“What?”
“You were driving her Range Rover.”
I remembered.
My car was being serviced.
Claire had asked why I needed hers overnight.
I told her my driver was sick.
The Range Rover had a family tracking app.
I had forgotten.
“She saw me go to Vanessa’s?”
“She saw you park outside the apartment.”
“She waited almost three hours.”
My stomach turned.
“Why didn't she confront me?”
“She almost did.”
“What stopped her?”
“Noah started crying.”
I stared at Linda.
“He was with her?”
“In the back seat.”
The image nearly destroyed me.
Claire.
Three months after childbirth?
No.
Noah had been barely six weeks old.
Claire had driven into Manhattan with our newborn because she needed to know whether her husband was lying.
She sat outside while I was upstairs with Vanessa.
“What happened?”
“She drove home.”
“That's it?”
“She cried the whole way.”
I looked down at my son.
Noah slept against me.
Linda continued.
“The next morning you told her your meeting went well.”
I remembered.
I kissed Claire’s forehead.
I asked why her eyes were swollen.
She said Noah had been up all night.
I said,
“You should sleep when he sleeps.”
God.
What an unforgivable sentence.
“She knew then?”
“Yes.”
“Why wait?”
“She was afraid.”
“Of me?”
“Not physically.”
Linda looked at me.
“She was afraid you'd cut off money.”
“Threaten custody.”
“Move assets.”
“Call her unstable.”
My stomach twisted.
“I would never—”
Then I remembered my father’s file.
Claire’s medical records.
I stopped.
Linda noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Adrian.”
“I found something.”
She waited.
“My father had a file on Claire.”
“What kind of file?”
“Medical records.”
Her face changed instantly.
“What records?”
“Postpartum appointments.”
“Anxiety consultation.”
Linda stood.
“You people are monsters.”
“I didn't know.”
“You always don't know.”
“I took the file.”
“Congratulations.”
“I didn’t use it.”
“You want applause?”
“No.”
“I want you to understand I’m trying.”
Linda looked at Noah.
Then at me.
“Trying begins when it costs you something.”
I had no response.
My phone buzzed.
Michael.
Call immediately.
I gave Noah back after our two hours ended.
This time he didn't cry leaving me.
That somehow hurt too.
I called Michael from the car.
“What happened?”
“Stonebridge contacted federal authorities.”
My chest tightened.
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Why?”
“The guarantee.”
I closed my eyes.
“Claire?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“The bank performed an internal review after Rachel Kim challenged the document.”
“What happens now?”
“We don't know.”
“Should I call Dad?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Harrison just retained separate counsel.”
I froze.
“He what?”
“He no longer intends to use the firm representing Vale Rowan.”
“Why?”
Michael’s voice became quiet.
“He’s protecting himself.”
Against whom?
May you like
I knew the answer before Michael said it.
“Against you.”
