Chapter 6 - THE NIGHT ISABELLA STOPPED BREATHING
Z
Isabella’s procedure lasted ninety-four minutes.
I counted every one.
Vincent sat beside me without speaking.
Normally, silence with him felt like punishment.
That night it felt like company.
At 10:52 p.m., the cardiologist finally appeared.
“The procedure went well.”
I started crying before she finished the sentence.
Vincent bent forward, elbows on his knees, both hands covering his face.
“The vessel is closed. Her oxygen levels are already improving.”
I wanted to thank God.
The surgeon.
Every machine in the hospital.
Everyone.
Then she added, “The next twelve hours still matter. Premature infants can be unpredictable.”
Of course they could.
Nothing about Isabella had entered the world gently.
We returned to the NICU after midnight.
I stood beside her incubator until exhaustion won.
When I woke, I was back in my hospital bed.
Vincent had carried me there.
I knew because the nurse told me.
At first, I was angry.
Then I remembered being unable to keep my eyes open.
I let it go.
That was when I noticed a small envelope on the bedside table.
Divorce papers.
Signed.
Vincent had signed every page.
I stared at his signature.
Vincent Antonio Moretti.
Black ink.
No argument.
No threat.
No delay.
There was a note attached.
Claire,
You were right.
I treated your love like something guaranteed because I was arrogant enough to believe you would always be there.
I signed.
Not because I want this.
Because you do.
V.
I read it twice.
Then cried again.
Not because I regretted leaving him.
Because five years of marriage had taught me to expect a war for every inch of freedom.
And the first truly loving thing Vincent had done for me might have been agreeing to lose me.
Elena came that morning.
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t need to rush because you’re emotional.”
“I wanted this before the hospital.”
She nodded.
“Then we proceed.”
Vincent arrived while she was putting the documents away.
He stopped at the door.
“Can I come in?”
Elena looked at me.
I almost smiled.
The most feared man in Chicago was asking permission to enter his wife’s hospital room.
“Yes.”
He stepped inside.
“How’s Isabella?”
“Better.”
His shoulders relaxed.
Elena closed her briefcase.
“I’ll file today.”
Vincent nodded.
No protest.
After she left, he sat by the window.
“I changed the custody section.”
I stiffened.
He raised a hand.
“I didn’t fight it. I requested shared legal custody, but primary physical custody with you.”
“Why?”
“Because she needs consistency.”
“And you?”
“I’ll see her whenever you allow under the agreement.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“No.”
He looked down.
“I don’t like the man I was forty-eight hours ago.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
His phone rang.
He checked it.
Something dark crossed his face.
“Problem?”
“Sophia disappeared.”
My pulse accelerated.
“When?”
“Last night.”
“Do you think she’ll come here?”
“No.”
His certainty was immediate.
Then he softened it.
“I’ve doubled hospital security.”
I hated that sentence.
I hated that our daughter had been alive three days and already needed guards.
“Vincent.”
“I know.”
“No, listen.”
He looked at me.
“I don’t want Isabella raised inside your world.”
The words sat between us.
“That world is who I am.”
“No. It’s what you do.”
His expression hardened instinctively.
For one second, the old Vincent returned.
Then he stopped himself.
“What are you asking?”
“I’m telling you what matters if you want a relationship with her.”
“Claire, I can’t walk away overnight.”
“I didn’t say overnight.”
He watched me carefully.
I continued.
“You have legitimate businesses. Hotels. Construction. Logistics. Restaurants. Real estate. You could live without the rest.”
“You think the rest would let me leave?”
“I think you’ve spent your whole life making everyone believe Vincent Moretti can do anything.”
I met his eyes.
“Prove it.”
He stared at me for a long time.
Before he could answer, Luca entered without knocking.
That alone told us something was wrong.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found Sophia’s car.”
“Where?”
“Near Midway.”
“And Sophia?”
“Gone.”
Luca placed a phone inside a plastic evidence bag on the table.
“We found this under the passenger seat.”
Vincent looked at it.
“Her burner?”
“Yes.”
“We got into it.”
Luca glanced at me.
I hated when he did that.
“Just say it.”
He did.
“There are messages between Sophia and Marco Ricci going back nearly a year.”
Vincent’s face became stone.
“What kind of messages?”
“Moretti schedules. Vehicle information. Properties. Family events.”
My stomach twisted.
“The birthday party?”
Luca nodded.
“Everything.”
Vincent stood.
Then Luca delivered the part that truly mattered.
“There’s also a photograph of Mrs. Moretti.”
Nobody moved.
“What photograph?” Vincent asked.
Luca turned the phone around.
It showed me leaving my obstetrician’s office two weeks earlier.
Taken from across the street.
Under the photograph was a message from Marco.
Soon?
Sophia had answered with three words.
After the baby.
Vincent became absolutely still.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
No one answered.
I looked from Luca to Vincent.
“What does that mean?”
Vincent took the phone.
His eyes traveled over the screen.
Then he looked at me.
For the first time since the hospital, his fear was no longer about losing me to divorce.
It was about something much worse.
“I think Sophia wasn’t waiting for our marriage to end.”
May you like
His voice became barely audible.
“I think she was waiting for you to die.”
