Chapter 3 - The Labor He Missed
Julian returned from Paris four days later.
He arrived at the Vance estate shortly after noon, wearing an expensive black coat and carrying a leather weekend bag. Lily was not with him.
At least not visibly.
The rain had stopped, but the winter sky remained gray above the long drive. Julian walked into the entrance hall expecting the familiar warmth of his home.
Instead, he found two security officers standing near the staircase.
His expression tightened.
“Where is Claire?”
One of the officers stepped forward.
“Mr. Sterling, you are not authorized to enter the private residence.”
Julian laughed once. “This is my house.”
“No,” came a voice from the drawing room. “It is not.”
Richard Vance stepped into view.
Julian’s face changed.
“Richard.”
“Mr. Sterling.”
“Where is my wife?”
Richard’s expression was cold.
“Claire is at the hospital.”
Julian went still.
“What happened?”
“She went into premature labor the night you decided Paris was more important.”
Julian’s jaw tightened.
“She was not in labor when I left.”
“She began bleeding less than an hour after you ended your call with her.”
For the first time, Julian looked frightened.
“Is the baby okay?”
Richard stared at him for a long moment.
“You do not get to ask that question as though you were here.”
Julian stepped forward. “I need to see Claire.”
“You can request a visit through her attorney.”
“My attorney?”
“Yes.”
Julian’s eyes narrowed.
“This is ridiculous.”
“No,” Richard said. “This is overdue.”
Julian looked around the entrance hall.
The paintings. The antique staircase. The marble floors. The estate he had lived in since marrying Claire.
Then he noticed the sealed boxes near the front door.
His boxes.
“What is this?”
“Your personal belongings,” Richard said. “The items you own have been packed.”
“You are throwing me out?”
“I am removing you from property held by the Vance Family Trust.”
Julian’s face darkened.
“Claire would never agree to this.”
Richard’s voice remained quiet.
“Claire is beginning to understand what she agreed to when she married you.”
Julian pulled out his phone.
He called Claire.
The call went to voicemail.
He called again.
Declined.
Then he received a message.
Please communicate through my attorney regarding medical matters and all shared property.
Julian stared at the screen.
His wife had never spoken to him like this before.
She had always softened her words. Explained her feelings. Offered him a way back from every argument.
Now there was nothing soft in the message.
Only distance.
At the hospital, Claire had given birth that morning.
A daughter.
She weighed just over five pounds and had spent the first hours in the neonatal unit. The doctors said she was small but strong.
Claire named her Eliana.
It meant “my God has answered.”
When Abigail asked why she chose it, Claire looked through the nursery glass at her tiny daughter.
“Because I kept asking for proof that I could survive without him,” she said. “And then she arrived.”
That evening, Julian tried one final time to see Claire.
The nurse returned from the hallway with a message.
“He says he is sorry,” she told Claire.
May you like
Claire looked down at Eliana’s tiny hand curled around her finger.
“Tell him,” Claire said, “that he can be sorry somewhere else.”
