Chapter 8 - THEIR DAUGHTER
Their daughter arrived at 3:47 a.m.
Three pounds, nine ounces.
For several horrifying seconds, she made no sound.
Amelia searched Roman’s face.
“Why isn’t she crying?”
Roman could not answer.
Doctors moved quickly around the tiny body.
Then came a sound.
Small.
Angry.
Perfect.
A cry.
Amelia sobbed.
Roman bent over her, forehead touching hers.
“She’s here.”
Their daughter was rushed to the neonatal intensive care unit.
Roman followed only after Amelia told him to.
“Go with her.”
His eyes searched hers.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
That question mattered.
Months earlier, Roman would have assumed.
Now he asked.
Amelia watched him disappear behind the medical team.
For the first time since the kidnapping, she did not feel abandoned.
She felt represented.
Their daughter spent thirty-eight days in the NICU.
They named her Lily.
Not after anyone.
That was Amelia’s condition.
“No ghosts.”
Roman agreed.
Lily Vale would begin life owing nothing to the dead.
Roman became absurdly devoted.
He learned every number on every monitor.
He washed his hands for exactly the required time.
He memorized feeding schedules.
He argued with a vending machine at four in the morning and lost.
Amelia found him standing in front of it.
“You threaten federal judges but a vending machine defeats you?”
“It took my money.”
“Tragic.”
“I wanted pretzels.”
“You’re becoming very brave about discussing your feelings.”
Roman looked offended.
Amelia laughed.
It felt good.
One evening, Roman sat beside Lily’s incubator reading aloud.
Amelia entered quietly.
“What are you reading?”
Roman looked guilty.
“The Wall Street Journal.”
“She’s four weeks old.”
“She seemed interested.”
“She’s asleep.”
“She was interested before that.”
Amelia sat beside him.
Their shoulders touched.
Neither moved away.
Healing did not arrive like lightning.
It came in small moments.
Roman asking permission.
Amelia trusting him with Lily for an hour.
Roman leaving when she needed space.
Amelia calling when she needed him.
When Lily finally reached five pounds, doctors began discussing discharge.
Roman expected Amelia to return to the estate.
She didn’t.
“I rented a house.”
He hid his disappointment.
“Where?”
“Towson.”
“Do you want security?”
“Yes.”
Roman blinked.
“But my security.”
“Of course.”
“I hired a company.”
Roman nodded.
“Okay.”
“And I want you to visit Lily.”
His eyes lifted.
“How often?”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“Okay.”
“And Roman?”
“Yes?”
“I’m not ready to come home.”
“I know.”
She studied him.
“You really aren’t going to argue?”
“I want you home.”
Her expression tightened.
“But,” he continued, “I want you to choose it.”
That softened something.
Three days later, Amelia brought Lily to the rental house.
Roman installed the crib.
Badly.
Amelia stood in the doorway.
“It’s crooked.”
“It is not.”
“It visibly leans.”
“The floor is uneven.”
“The floor was built in 2022.”
Roman stared at the crib.
Amelia crossed her arms.
“The feared Roman Vale defeated by furniture.”
“I’m calling Miles.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You built it. You fix it.”
Roman spent another forty minutes rebuilding the crib.
When he finished, it was perfect.
Amelia looked impressed.
Roman pointed at it.
“Say it.”
“No.”
“Say it’s straight.”
“It’s acceptable.”
He narrowed his eyes.
She smiled.
For a moment, the room felt like home.
Then Roman’s phone rang.
Miles.
Roman answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
Amelia immediately noticed.
Roman listened.
Then he ended the call.
“Gabriel escaped during a prisoner transfer.”
Amelia went cold.
“How?”
“Someone hit the transport vehicle.”
Roman looked toward Lily.
Every trace of humor vanished.
“He’s coming.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“How?”
Roman pulled out his phone.
A message had arrived from an unknown number.
There was a photograph attached.
Amelia standing beside Lily’s crib.
Taken through the bedroom window less than an hour earlier.
Below it was a sentence.
You finally chose the wife. Let’s see if you choose the child.
Amelia stared at the screen.
Roman looked at her.
This was the nightmare repeating itself.
Another forced choice.
Another person he loved.
Another trap designed around the assumption that Roman Vale could be controlled by deciding who mattered more.
But this time Roman did something Gabriel had not predicted.
He handed Amelia the phone.
“What do you want to do?”
She looked at him.
“You’re asking me?”
“Yes.”
“You already have a plan.”
“Several.”
“And?”
“You’re Lily’s mother. This is your home. You decide.”
Amelia looked at the photograph again.
Then at the window.
Fear moved through her.
But beneath it was something stronger.
She had survived Gabriel once.
She would not spend the rest of her life running from him.
“Okay,” she said.
Roman waited.
May you like
Amelia handed the phone back.
“Let’s stop disappearing.”
