Chapter 4 - The Search Across the Hudson
The rain was falling again, hammering relentlessly against the windshield of Adrien’s rented sedan as he drove aimlessly through a quiet, coastal town in Maine. It had been nearly two months since he found the cream box and the pregnancy test hidden among his desk papers. Two months of agonizing guilt, sleepless nights, and relentless searching.
He had fired Vanessa Cole permanently, cutting all ties and facing her public tantrums with cold, unyielding indifference. He had thrown himself into tracking down any lead that suggested where Claire might have sought refuge.
A breakthrough finally came three days ago through an old college professor of Claire’s who remembered her mentioning a small, coastal community where her aunt used to live—a place where people knew everyone and digital footprints were optional.
Adrien parked the car near a small, weathered clapboard cottage overlooking a gray, churning ocean. The house was painted a soft, faded blue with white trim, a cheerful yellow wreath hanging on the front door. Smoke drifted lazily from the brick chimney, cutting through the damp coastal air.
His heart hammered violently against his ribs as he turned off the ignition. He sat in the driver's seat for a full minute, paralyzed by a mixture of overwhelming hope and sheer terror. What if she slammed the door in his face? What if she had already filed for divorce? What if she never wanted to see him again?
He pushed open the car door, stepping out into the cold drizzle without an umbrella. His expensive Italian leather shoes squelched in the wet gravel of the driveway, but he didn't care.
He walked up the wooden steps of the front porch and raised a trembling hand to knock.
Before his knuckles could touch the wood, the front door swung open.
Claire stood in the doorway.
She wasn't wearing designer dresses or expensive jewelry. She wore an oversized cream-colored knit sweater, soft cotton leggings, and thick woolen socks. Her hair was tied back in a loose, effortless bun. But what stopped Adrien dead in his tracks was her silhouette.
She was visibly pregnant. Her sweater clung softly to a rounded, undeniable baby bump.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The sound of the ocean waves crashing against the rocky shore filled the silence between them. Claire’s eyes, wide and guarded, searched his face, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the damp hair, and the raw, pleading desperation written across his features.
May you like
“Adrien,” she finally said, her voice quiet, steady, and entirely devoid of the warmth he once took for granted. “How did you find me?”
“Claire,” he breathed, his voice breaking on her name as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He took a half-step forward, his hands trembling. “Claire, please... let me in.”
