Chapter 6 - Thirty-Two Weeks
The inside of the cottage was frigid, the air smelling of woodsmoke and old cedar. A modest fire crackled inside the stone hearth, providing the only heat and light in the living room. Claire had dragged a thick mattress from the bedroom into the center of the floor, surrounding it with heavy quilts and an extra wool blanket.
I collapsed onto the wooden floor near the door, struggling to strip off my frozen gloves. My fingers were stiff, white, and completely unresponsive.
Without a word, Claire walked over, knelt down, and pulled my coat off my shoulders. She took my frozen hands between her warm palms, rubbing them firmly to restore the circulation. Her touch was gentle, completely instinctive—the touch of a woman who had spent years caring for others—yet her eyes remained distant, guarded by an impenetrable wall of emotional glass.
""You're bleeding,"" she said, nodding toward my cheek.
""It doesn't matter,"" I whispered, staring at her belly beneath the heavy wool sweater. ""Claire... I saw the scan. The second scan.""
Her hands stopped moving. Slowly, she pulled them away from mine, resting them protectively over her stomach.
""Dr. Miller told you,"" she stated quietly.
""He told me enough to know that I am the most despicable human being alive,"" I said, tears finally cutting hot tracks through the frost on my cheeks. ""You were sitting in that clinic on December nineteenth while I was drinking at a banquet. You sold your grandmother’s pearls because you thought you had to save our baby alone. Claire... why didn't you scream at me? Why didn't you throw something at my head and force me to look at you?""
Claire sat back on her heels, looking into the dancing flames of the fireplace.
""Because love shouldn't have to scream to be noticed, Ryan,"" she said, her voice steady and heartbreakingly clear. ""I spent two years watching you slip away. First it was dinners. Then it was weekends. Then you stopped looking at my face when I spoke to you. When the doctor told me that our little girl had a hole in her diaphragm, that her stomach was crowding out her lungs... the first thing I felt was terrifying grief. But the second thing I felt was shame.""
She swallowed hard, her chin trembling slightly before she regained control.
""I felt ashamed because I realized I couldn't even tell my husband without wondering if he’d consider our sick baby an inconvenience to his calendar. And when I saw Vanessa's post on Christmas Eve... I didn't cry because you broke your vows. I knew you were doing that weeks ago. I cried because I realized that if I let you stay, my daughter would grow up watching her mother beg for crumbs of affection from a man who only loved himself.""
Every word struck my chest like a lead hammer. There was no defense. No corporate spin. No justification about high-stress workloads or billion-dollar hotel portfolios. She had dismantled my entire existence with the simple, unvarnished truth.
""I fired Vanessa,"" I whispered. ""I fired her today. And I walked away from the board. I don't care about Whitmore Hospitality. I will sign the entire company over to my partners if that's what it takes.""
Claire let out a dry, humorless chuckle. ""Do you think this is about your company, Ryan? Do you think I want your money or your public grandstanding? I needed a partner. I needed someone to hold my hand when Dr. Miller stuck a six-inch needle into my abdomen to check her amniotic fluid. You weren't there.""
Suddenly, Claire gasped. Her body went rigid.
She curled forward, her hands gripping her lower abdomen as a low, sharp moan escaped her lips. The color drained completely from her face.
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""Claire!"" I scrambled across the floor to her side, catching her shoulders. ""What is it? What's happening?""
""A contraction,"" she whispered through clenched teeth, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. ""Ryan... the stress... they started an hour before you arrived. They’re getting closer together.""
