I could barely breathe.
“Our daughter isn’t even born yet.”
“That’s exactly why I’m telling you now.”
Another contraction hit.
Kimberly told me to breathe.
Dr. Patel ordered Nathan to step away from the bed.
But I kept staring at my husband.
“What are you saying?”
Nathan sighed.
Not sadly.
Impatiently.
Like I was forcing him to explain something obvious.
“I’m saying I don’t want the Caldwell name placed on her birth certificate.”
The room went completely still.
I heard Kimberly whisper, “Oh my God.”
Nathan continued.
“You can use your maiden name. Bennett. It’s a respectable name.”
My fingers tightened around the blanket.
“And the trust?”
Nathan hesitated.
That was enough.
“The education trust and Caldwell family inheritance vehicles would be reserved primarily for my son.”
I stared at him.
“And what exactly does our daughter get?”
“I’ll make sure you’re both financially comfortable.”
“How generous.”
“You’ll receive a settlement.”
“A settlement?”
“Yes.”
I laughed then.
Actually laughed.
I was ten centimeters dilated, sweating through my hospital gown, about to give birth to the child we had planned together, and my husband was standing in front of me offering severance pay.
Nathan frowned.
“I know you’re emotional.”
That sentence changed something inside me.
Not later.
Not after the divorce.
Right then.
I stopped seeing him as my husband.
He became a problem.
A legal problem.
A financial problem.
A problem I knew exactly how to solve.
I leaned back against the pillow.
“Okay.”
Nathan looked surprised.
“What?”
“I said okay.”
Vanessa lifted her eyes.
Nathan studied my face.
“You understand?”
“Perfectly.”
He relaxed.
That was his mistake.
He thought silence meant surrender.
Ten minutes later, my daughter entered the world screaming.
Seven pounds, one ounce.
A full head of dark hair.
Tiny clenched fists.
Perfect lungs.
When Kimberly laid her against my chest, I started crying so hard I could barely see her.
“Hello, sweetheart,” I whispered.
My daughter opened her eyes for one second.
Nathan stood six feet away.
He looked at her.
No smile.
No tears.
No instinct to come closer.
Nothing.
Then his phone vibrated.
He checked the screen.
Vanessa quietly touched his arm.
Nathan looked at me.
“I’ll give you some time.”
I stared at him.
“With your daughter?”
“With everything.”
Then he left.
With Vanessa.
The father of my newborn child walked out of the maternity ward beside the woman who had given him the son he apparently valued more.
