Chapter 3 - THE CALLS HE NEVER SAW
Z
I woke up believing I was still pregnant.
That was the cruelest part.
My first clear thought was that something felt wrong with my stomach.
My second was that I couldn’t move.
My third was panic.
I opened my eyes to white ceiling tiles, machines, and a pain so deep it seemed to have replaced every organ inside my body.
A nurse noticed immediately.
“Claire?”
My lips barely moved.
“My baby.”
“She’s alive.”
I closed my eyes.
Tears slipped toward my ears.
“Girl?”
“A girl.”
“Isabella?”
The nurse smiled.
“Isabella.”
Only after my heartbeat settled did I notice the man sitting in the corner.
Vincent.
His shirt was wrinkled.
His jacket was gone.
There was dried blood near one cuff.
Mine, I later learned.
He stood.
I turned my face away.
“Claire.”
I said nothing.
He approached the bed but stopped two feet away.
For the first time in our marriage, Vincent seemed unsure whether he was allowed to come closer.
“I’m sorry.”
It sounded strange coming from him.
I had heard Vincent threaten politicians, negotiate with men carrying guns, and deliver orders that changed other people’s lives.
I had almost never heard him apologize.
“I should have come.”
My throat hurt.
“You should have.”
His face tightened.
“I was wrong.”
I looked at him then.
Maybe he expected anger.
I had none left.
That frightened him.
“Where is Sophia?”
“Gone.”
“Good.”
“Claire, I didn’t understand—”
“I called you.”
Vincent stopped.
“What?”
“Eleven times.”
He stared at me.
I remembered every one.
First when the cramps became contractions.
Then from the car.
Then from the emergency room.
Then after a doctor told me the baby’s heart rate was dropping.
I had called until my hands shook.
“You never called me.”
“I did.”
Vincent reached for his phone.
He scrolled.
Nothing.
His expression changed.
Luca, standing outside the doorway, stepped inside when Vincent called his name.
“Get the phone records.”
“Boss—”
“Now.”
Within forty minutes, Luca returned.
There had been eleven calls.
Every one had reached Vincent’s phone.
Every one had been manually declined.
Vincent stared at the record.
“That’s impossible.”
Then he remembered.
At the birthday party, his phone had been on the table beside Sophia.
He had stepped away to speak with his grandfather.
Later, Sophia brought it to him.
You’re always working, she had teased.
Enjoy tonight.
Vincent looked physically ill.
“Claire.”
I knew before he said it.
“Sophia?”
“I don’t know yet.”
I laughed weakly.
The sound hurt.
“You always say that.”
His eyes lifted.
“You always don’t know.”
“Claire—”
“You didn’t know why she needed a house. You didn’t know why she needed a car. You didn’t know why she could walk all over our home when I had to live like a guest.”
My voice cracked.
“And now you don’t know who rejected my calls while your wife was bleeding?”
Vincent had no answer.
A doctor entered before he could find one.
She explained the surgery.
The blood loss.
The recovery.
Then the hysterectomy.
I heard the word.
But for several seconds, I didn’t understand it.
“I can’t…”
The doctor sat beside me.
“I’m sorry.”
My hand moved to my stomach.
“No more babies?”
Her eyes answered before her mouth did.
“No.”
I turned my face toward the window.
I didn’t cry immediately.
Vincent did.
A single tear rolled down his cheek.
I saw it.
And for some reason, it made me furious.
“Don’t.”
He wiped it away.
“Claire.”
“You don’t get to cry.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to make this about how guilty you feel.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know anything.”
My voice rose enough for the monitor to react.
The nurse stepped closer.
Vincent backed away immediately.
I breathed slowly.
“I wanted another child.”
“I remember.”
That surprised me.
“I remember everything now,” he said.
I stared at him.
“That’s convenient.”
He flinched.
Then someone knocked.
A woman in a charcoal suit entered.
Elena Shaw.
My attorney.
Vincent recognized her immediately.
His expression darkened.
I had hired Elena two months earlier.
Before the house.
Before the car.
Before asking Vincent for a divorce.
Because some part of me had already understood that a man who treated marriage like ownership would not let me leave easily.
Elena approached my bed.
“You sure?”
I nodded.
She placed a folder on the table.
Vincent looked from her to me.
“What is that?”
“The divorce petition,” I said.
His jaw clenched.
“Claire, you just woke up.”
“And I still want it.”
“We can talk when you’re stronger.”
“I’m strong enough.”
He looked at Elena.
“Leave.”
“No,” I said.
One word.
Vincent looked back at me.
It was the first time I had publicly countermanded him in years.
And nothing happened.
The ceiling didn’t fall.
Nobody died.
I realized I should have done it sooner.
“Elena stays.”
Vincent’s fists closed.
Then slowly opened.
“Fine.”
Elena handed him a second folder.
“You’ll be formally served tomorrow, Mr. Moretti.”
Vincent didn’t touch it.
“You arranged this before tonight?”
“Yes.”
His eyes found mine.
“You really planned to leave me.”
“I told you.”
He looked shattered.
“You laughed.”
Silence filled the room.
Then Luca’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“Boss.”
Vincent turned.
“We found something.”
“What?”
Luca looked at me, clearly uncertain whether to continue.
Vincent stepped into the hall.
But the door had not fully closed when I heard Luca’s next sentence.
“Sophia didn’t just decline Mrs. Moretti’s calls.”
A pause.
“She deleted the voicemails too.”
Vincent’s voice became deadly quiet.
“What voicemails?”
May you like
Luca swallowed.
“The ones where Claire was begging you to come to the hospital.”
