Chapter 3 - THE SECRET SHE TOOK WITH HER
Grant reached St. Catherine’s in eleven minutes.
He remembered almost none of the drive.
Only red lights.
Rain.
His hands crushing the steering wheel.
Claire was alive.
The nurse told him that immediately.
It should have been enough.
It wasn't.
“What happened?”
“She collapsed at Penn Station.”
Grant stared through the glass toward the treatment area.
“Can I see her?”
“Not yet.”
“I'm her husband.”
The nurse’s expression softened.
“She specifically asked that you not be brought back.”
That hurt more than Grant expected.
He nodded slowly.
“Is she sick?”
“I can't discuss her medical information without permission.”
Grant almost laughed at the cruelty of that sentence.
He had spent years being too unavailable to hear Claire’s pain.
Now he was finally desperate to listen, and he had no right to know.
He sat in the waiting room until sunrise.
At 6:20, Rachel Pierce appeared.
Grant stood.
“Where is Daniel?”
“At home.”
“Does Claire have something wrong with her?”
Rachel studied him.
“You found the papers.”
“Yes.”
Her face changed.
“She left those?”
“Yes.”
Rachel sat.
Grant remained standing.
“What else don't I know?”
Rachel’s eyes filled.
“That isn't my story to tell.”
“Rachel, please.”
Perhaps it was the please.
Grant Mercer rarely said it.
Rachel looked toward the treatment doors.
“She hasn't been sleeping.”
“I know.”
“No, Grant. You don't.”
He flinched.
“She sleeps two or three hours on good nights. Sometimes none. She stopped painting for months. She had panic attacks. She blamed herself for losing the baby even though every doctor told her it wasn't her fault.”
Grant sat opposite her.
“Why didn't you call me?”
“I wanted to.”
“Then why—”
“Because Claire begged me not to.”
“Why?”
Rachel's expression hardened.
“Because she was terrified you would suddenly become attentive out of guilt.”
Grant had no answer.
“She didn't want your pity. She wanted her husband.”
Every word landed cleanly.
“And yesterday?”
“She had an appointment.”
“The envelope.”
Rachel nodded.
“What was in it?”
“I don't know.”
Grant looked at her.
Rachel frowned.
“She didn't tell you?”
“She almost did.”
“What stopped her?”
Grant thought of his phone buzzing.
He didn't answer.
Rachel understood anyway.
At 7:05, Claire appeared.
She wore hospital scrubs beneath her coat because her dress had become soaked when she collapsed.
Her face went still when she saw Grant.
Rachel immediately stood.
“I called him,” Grant said before Claire could accuse her.
“I know.”
Claire sounded exhausted.
Grant approached carefully.
“What happened?”
“Panic attack. Dehydration. I'm fine.”
Fine.
That word again.
He hated it now.
“Can I take you home?”
“No.”
“Claire—”
“I called Rachel.”
Rachel touched Claire's arm.
“I can take you.”
Grant swallowed.
“Where are you going?”
Claire met his eyes.
“Somewhere else.”
“For how long?”
“I don't know.”
His fear sharpened.
“Are you leaving me?”
Rachel looked away.
Claire did not.
“Yes.”
One syllable.
Grant felt it everywhere.
“Don't decide this tonight.”
“I didn't.”
“When did you?”
Claire looked exhausted rather than angry.
“Slowly.”
That was worse.
Grant stepped closer.
“I know about the baby.”
Claire's face changed.
He saw the grief before she buried it.
“I should have been there.”
“Yes.”
“I should've known.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me afterward?”
Her eyes flashed.
“I tried.”
“I know.”
“No, you know because Daniel told you. You don't remember me trying.”
Grant went silent.
Claire's voice trembled.
“I stood outside your office one morning with the ultrasound photograph in my purse. You walked past me while dictating an email and said, ‘Whatever it is, can we do it tonight?’”
Grant remembered.
God.
He remembered.
“And that night?” Claire asked.
He closed his eyes.
“I got home after midnight.”
“You forgot.”
“Yes.”
“I didn't.”
Silence.
Claire wiped her cheek angrily.
“I don't want revenge. I don't want your money. I don't even want you to hurt, Grant.”
“But I do.”
“That isn't my responsibility anymore.”
She turned.
“Claire.”
She stopped.
“I love you.”
Her shoulders stiffened.
For eleven years, those words had fixed things.
Not today.
Claire turned back.
“I love you too.”
Hope exploded inside him.
Then she finished.
“And that's why staying became unbearable.”
She walked away.
Grant did not follow.
For once, he listened when she asked him not to.
Three days passed.
Claire stayed with Rachel's sister in Brooklyn.
Grant slept badly.
He canceled meetings.
His executives reacted as though civilization itself had ended.
On Monday morning, Daniel entered Grant's office carrying a folder.
“We have a problem.”
Grant stared at the skyline.
“I have several.”
“This one concerns Claire.”
Grant turned.
Daniel placed the folder down.
Inside were photographs.
Claire entering a medical office.
Claire meeting a man outside.
Claire hugging him.
Grant's jaw tightened.
“Who is he?”
“Dr. Ethan Cole.”
Grant looked up.
“A doctor?”
“Not hers.”
Daniel slid another page forward.
“He runs the Bellweather Foundation.”
Grant recognized the name.
A nonprofit arts organization.
“What does this have to do with Claire?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Apparently, quite a lot.”
There was a contract.
Claire Mercer.
Creative Director.
Grant stared at the salary.
Then the start date.
Two months earlier.
“She has a job?”
“More than that. She has been rebuilding their entire community arts program.”
Grant realized he did not even know his wife had returned to painting.
Then he saw another document.
A lease.
A studio in Brooklyn.
Signed six weeks earlier.
Claire had been building another life while sleeping beside him.
He felt sick.
Daniel pointed to the photographs.
“Cole is divorced. Thirty-eight. No kids.”
Grant looked at him sharply.
“What are you suggesting?”
“Nothing. I'm giving you information.”
Grant closed the folder.
“Don't.”
“Don't what?”
“Turn this into another problem I can beat.”
Daniel studied him.
“That may be the first intelligent thing you've said all week.”
Grant almost smiled.
Then Daniel's phone rang.
His expression changed when he answered.
“What?”
Grant watched him.
Daniel slowly looked up.
“What happened?”
Daniel ended the call.
“Mercer Development's Hudson financing just collapsed.”
Grant stood.
“What?”
“The bank pulled out.”
“Why?”
Daniel looked almost stunned.
“Because somebody sent them evidence that the environmental reports were falsified.”
Grant's face hardened.
“I didn't falsify anything.”
“I know.”
“Who had access?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Three people.”
“Who?”
“You. Me.”
May you like
A beat.
“And Claire.”
