Chapter 3 - THE FORGED TRAIL
I stood in the small clinic bathroom for five minutes, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My face was pale, my eyes shadowed with exhaustion. The paper in my pocket felt heavy—a physical testament to six months of wasted tears and stolen peace.
When I stepped back into the exam room, Dr. Bennett was setting up the fetal heart monitor. Vincent was standing by the window, his back to me, staring down at the parking lot below.
“Lying down, please,” Dr. Bennett instructed softly.
I climbed onto the table, pulling up my shirt to expose my abdomen. Dr. Bennett applied the cold gel, making me flinch. She placed the transducer against my skin, and seconds later, the room filled with a fast, rhythmic sound.
Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump.
Vincent turned around instantly. The tension in his shoulders seemed to melt as he listened to our daughter’s heartbeat. He took two steps toward the bed, his gaze locked on the small screen.
“145 beats per minute,” Dr. Bennett said, smiling. “Strong and steady.”
Vincent looked at me, his eyes shining with an emotion he couldn't hide. “It sounds like a galloping horse.”
“She’s active,” I whispered, feeling tears prick my eyes.
While the monitor recorded the rhythm, Vincent pulled a chair up beside the bed and sat down. He didn't ask permission this time; he simply took my hand. His fingers were warm and calloused, wrapping around mine with a gentle firmness.
“Who had access to your stationery, Vincent?” I asked quietly, keeping my voice low so Dr. Bennett wouldn't hear over the machine.
“Very few people,” Vincent replied, his jaw tightening. “My personal desk at the estate is locked. Only Grant, Miles, and my inner circle ever enter that office.”
“Grant brought me the final divorce papers,” I recalled, memories of that horrible morning rushing back. “He came to the house while you were in New York. He said you didn't want to see me, that you were cutting ties cleanly to protect the family assets.”
Vincent’s grip on my hand tightened so hard it almost hurt. “I was in New York settling a dispute with the Moretti family. Grant told me you had packed your bags and walked out while I was on the plane. He handed me that forged letter when I landed.”
“Why didn't you call me?” I choked out, a tear finally slipping down my cheek.
“Because I was proud, foolish, and angry,” Vincent admitted, looking down at our joined hands. “And because the letter said if I pursued you, you’d go to the federal prosecutors with what you knew about the syndicate.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “You believed I would betray you?”
“I believed I had made your life so miserable that you hated me enough to do it,” Vincent said softly. “I wanted to protect you from my world, Hannah. When I thought you wanted out, I... I let you go, even though it tore me apart.”
A knock at the door interrupted us. Dr. Bennett stepped back into the room, holding a computer printout. Her smile was gone, replaced by a deep, grave concern.
“Hannah, your lab results just came back,” she said, her voice dropping. “There is a high concentration of protein in your urine, and your blood pressure has just spiked to 160 over 110.”
May you like
Vincent stood up instantly, releasing my hand. “What does that mean?”
“It means Hannah has severe preeclampsia,” Dr. Bennett said urgently. “We need to transport her to Evanston Hospital immediately. She is at high risk for seizures, and the baby is showing signs of distress.”
