I looked down at my daughter’s pink face. “It is.”
He chuckled. “Still dramatic. Listen, I’m getting married tomorrow.”
For a moment, the hospital room seemed to shrink around me. The monitors beeped. Rain slid down the window. My stitches burned every time I breathed.
“Congratulations,” I said flatly.
“To Vanessa,” he added, savoring the name like a knife. “You remember her.”
Of course I remembered her. His “new business consultant.” The woman whose perfume had clung to his shirts. The woman who had sat across from me during divorce mediation, pretending to be shocked when Daniel accused me of being unstable, lazy, and “financially dependent.”
“She wanted me to invite you,” Daniel said. “Closure, you know? We’re mature adults.”
I almost laughed. He had emptied our joint account three days before filing. He had told our friends I had faked my pregnancy to trap him. When I miscarried two years ago, he said my grief was “bad for his image.”
Now he wanted me seated in a church while he smiled for cameras.
“I just gave birth,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Silence.
Then his voice cracked. “What?”
“My daughter was born this morning.”
“Your… daughter?” His breathing sharpened. “Emily, whose child is that?”
I stared at the rain. “Mine.”
“Don’t play games.”
“You taught me games, Daniel. I improved.”
Thirty minutes later, the door to my hospital room burst open.
Daniel stood there in a tuxedo shirt, hair wet from the storm, face pale as bone. Vanessa appeared behind him, diamonds at her throat and fury in her eyes.
Daniel pointed at the baby. “Tell me the truth.”
A nurse stepped forward. “Sir, you can’t barge in here.”
“It’s fine,” I said softly.
Daniel’s eyes locked onto the bassinet label.
Baby Girl Carter. Mother: Emily Carter.
He swallowed. “Carter?”
“Yes,” I said. “My name. Not yours.”
Vanessa laughed coldly. “This is pathetic. You had a baby just to ruin our wedding?”
I smiled for the first time.
“No,” I said. “I had her because she survived you.”….
Leave a Comment