Chapter 6 - The Night My Son Chose
Thirty-four weeks.
That number became the center of the universe.
The ambulance moved through Chicago traffic while Melanie spoke to me through the phone.
“Breathe. Don't fight the contractions.”
“I am not having this baby tonight.”
Apparently, my son had not consulted me.
Another contraction tore through me.
Natalie held my hand.
My father followed in another car.
Security notified police about the SUV.
Nobody could prove Grant had been driving.
The plates belonged to a Waverly Pacific fleet vehicle reported stolen forty minutes earlier.
Of course they did.
At the hospital, everything moved quickly.
Monitors.
Needles.
Questions.
Doctors.
Melanie arrived wearing scrubs beneath her coat.
She examined me and delivered the first piece of good news.
The baby's heartbeat was strong.
The second piece was less comforting.
Labor was progressing.
“We may be able to slow it,” she said.
“May?”
“Claire.”
I knew that voice.
Doctor voice.
Friend hidden underneath.
“Tell me.”
“If he decides tonight is his birthday, we're going to make sure he's safe.”
I laughed despite myself.
“Apparently Waverly men enjoy ruining my parties.”
Melanie smiled.
“That sounded like you.”
Then security entered.
Grant was downstairs.
My body went cold.
“He says he's the father,” the guard explained. “He's demanding access.”
“No.”
One word.
Still powerful.
“He also says he has medical decision-making authority as your husband.”
Natalie stood.
“He does not have authority while Claire is competent.”
“Tell him he isn't coming in.”
Grant's voice erupted in the corridor minutes later.
He had found another way upstairs.
“Claire!”
I saw him through the glass.
His tie was gone.
His hair was disordered.
For the first time since I met him, Grant looked like a man whose money couldn't fix the room.
He saw me.
“Claire, please.”
I turned away.
He pressed his hand against the glass.
“That's my son.”
I looked back.
“Yes.”
“I deserve to be there.”
“No.”
His face twisted.
“You can't do this.”
“You taught me I could.”
Security removed him.
Three hours later, labor slowed.
By dawn, the immediate danger had passed.
I was exhausted but still pregnant.
Melanie ordered forty-eight hours of observation.
Grant remained outside the hospital until police arrived to question him about the SUV.
He denied everything.
Then something unexpected happened.
Sabrina disappeared.
Her phone went dead.
Her apartment was empty.
Her father didn't know where she was.
The internet immediately decided Grant had done something to her.
I wasn't sure.
By Saturday evening, the forensic investigators had recovered enough data from Harrison's archive to identify several serious financial irregularities.
Grant's position became worse by the hour.
Then his lawyers made their move.
They filed divorce papers.
Grant wanted the marriage dissolved.
Immediately.
Natalie laughed when she read the petition.
“He thinks divorce separates you from the trust before the baby arrives.”
“Does it?”
“Not fast enough.”
But there was another problem.
Grant alleged that I had manipulated Marjorie, stolen proprietary corporate information and conspired with my father to seize Waverly Pacific.
He wanted my voting rights frozen pending litigation.
The hearing was scheduled for Monday.
I was still in the hospital.
“I'll attend remotely.”
Melanie objected.
Natalie objected.
My mother objected.
I attended remotely.
Grant appeared in court wearing the same calm expression he had worn throughout our marriage.
His attorney painted him as a betrayed husband whose wife had exploited a private argument to launch a takeover.
Then Natalie's turn came.
She played the birthday recording.
Not the viral clip.
The complete recording.
The courtroom heard Sabrina insult me.
Grant tear my dress.
Grant block my path.
Grant order me not to leave.
Then the microphone captured something the viral clip had missed.
As Melanie escorted me away, Grant had leaned toward Sabrina.
His voice was faint.
But audible.
“You said she hadn't signed yet.”
Sabrina answered:
“She wasn't supposed to.”
Grant:
“Find out who got to Marjorie.”
The judge listened twice.
Then denied Grant's request to freeze my voting rights.
But before the hearing ended, Grant asked to address the court.
Against his lawyer's visible advice, he stood.
“My wife is carrying my child.”
The judge waited.
“I am concerned she is being manipulated while emotionally and medically vulnerable.”
My hand tightened around the hospital blanket.
Grant continued.
“I love my wife.”
There it was.
The sentence I had wanted for years.
And it meant absolutely nothing.
The judge asked, “Mr. Waverly, did you tear your wife's dress?”
Grant hesitated.
“It was an accident.”
“Did you block her from leaving?”
“I was trying to calm her.”
“Did you conduct surveillance on her?”
“No.”
That answer mattered.
Because Natalie had evidence.
Grant had just denied it under oath.
The judge dismissed the emergency petition.
Minutes later, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Sabrina whispered, “Don't say my name.”
“Where are you?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“Why did you disappear?”
“Because I found the contingency file.”
My heart started pounding.
“What contingency file?”
“The one Grant paid the investigators to create.”
I looked toward Natalie.
“What was in it?”
Sabrina began crying.
“A plan for what happened if you left him before the baby was born.”
“What kind of plan?”
There was a long silence.
Then she said:
“He wasn't going to hurt you, Claire.”
May you like
Relief lasted less than a second.
“He was going to prove you were an unfit mother.”
