AFTER 144 HOURS AWAY WITH ANOTHER WOMAN, HE FINALLY REMEMBERED HIS PREGNANT WIFE. HIS SHAKEN ASSISTANT MET HIM AT THE DOOR AND SAID, “SIR, YOUR WIFE HAD A SERIOUS MEDICAL EMERGENCY. SHE L3ST THE BABY. AND SHE HAS ALREADY SIGNED THE DIVORCE PAPERS.”

Three days later.

I stood inside the small, sunlit room at my father's old estate in upstate New York.

The room had been painted a soft, peaceful blue weeks before Daniel was supposed to arrive. A white wooden crib sat near the window, untouched, surrounded by small plush animals and folded blankets.

My mother sat quietly in the rocking chair by the door, holding a cup of warm tea, watching me as I gently placed a small white silver photo frame on the wooden dresser. Inside the frame was the ultrasound photo from my twentieth week of pregnancy.

"You're allowed to cry, Claire," my mother said softly, her voice filled with a mother's gentle wisdom. "You don't have to be the CEO in this room."

I looked down at the tiny blue blanket resting in my lap—the blanket Noah had brought back from the hospital.

"I cried for three days in that hospital bed, Mom," I whispered, my thumb tracing the soft wool. "I cried until I had no tears left. Now... I just want to make sure my son’s memory isn't tarnished by the man who let him die."

Downstairs, the quiet of the estate was broken by the sound of a heavy wooden door slamming open, followed by raised voices in the grand foyer.

"Claire!" Adrian’s voice echoed up the grand staircase. "Claire, I know you're up there! Please talk to me!"

My mother stood up immediately, her eyes narrowing. "I'll call the estate security."

"No," I said, setting the blue blanket down carefully on the dresser. "I’ll handle this myself."

I walked down the long carpeted hallway and stood at the top of the grand double staircase, looking down into the marble foyer.

Adrian stood near the front doors, looking haggard and unkempt. His expensive suit was wrinkled, his hair messy, his eyes bloodshot and wild. Two estate security guards stood on either side of him, holding him by his arms.

When he looked up and saw me, his face crumpled into pure, desperate sorrow.

"Claire..." he wept, taking a step toward the stairs before the guards held him back. "Please... just give me five minutes. That's all I ask. Five minutes."