Chapter 15 - The Gift of Ashes
Vincent bowed his head against the cold wood floor, his broad shoulders shaking violently as he wept. The sound of his sobbing was guttural, the raw agony of a man who had finally realized that all the wealth in the world could not buy back a single heartbeat.
"I know," Vincent choked out, his forehead pressing against the planks near her work boots. "I know I can never undo it. I will spend every second of the rest of my life hating myself for that afternoon. I didn't come here to ask you to come back to New York. I know you'll never come back to that vault."
He slowly reached into his inner breast pocket. He withdrew a thick, leather-bound folder embossed with gold lettering and laid it gently at her feet.
Claire looked down. "What is this?"
"Moretti Global Logistics," Vincent said, wiping his face with trembling hands as he struggled to his feet. "I stepped down as Chief Executive Officer and Chairman yesterday morning. I placed eighty percent of my personal equity—roughly four point two billion dollars—into an irrevocable blind trust. The sole beneficiary is you, Claire."
Claire stared at him in disbelief, a bitter smile touching her lips. "You think money fixes this? You think you can write a check for our dead baby?"
"No!" Vincent cried out, horrified by the thought. "No, Claire, listen to me! I don't want you to keep a penny of it if you don't want it! Build art schools. Open trauma centers for mothers. Burn it in the harbor if it pleases you! But I took away your independence for seven years. I made you live on an allowance and scheduled appointments. This is your freedom. It’s untraceable, unrevocable, and yours. You will never have to answer to anyone for the rest of your life."
He pulled a second, smaller item from his pocket: a worn, heavy manila envelope.
"And this," Vincent said softly, his voice breaking. "The hospital wouldn't release the formal pathology reports and the fetal footprint card to anyone except the legal next of kin. Vanessa had intercepted the mail. I found it in her locked drawer. I... I had no right to look at it alone. It belongs to you."
Claire’s breath hitched. Her icy composure shattered completely. She reached out with trembling hands, snatching the manila envelope from his grasp.
She pulled out the small, stiff index card inside.
There, stamped in faint purple ink, were two tiny footprints, no larger than the tip of her thumb. Beside them was a handwritten notation from the attending nurse: Baby Bennett-Moretti. Rest in peace, little angel.
May you like
A ragged, agonizing sob tore from Claire’s throat. She sank onto a cedar stool, clutching the tiny card against her chest, rocking back and forth as seven months of repressed, silent mourning crashed over her like a tidal wave.
Vincent didn't touch her. He didn't presume to comfort her. He simply stood three feet away, his own head bowed, weeping silently in the shadows, sharing the burden of their grief for the very first time.
