Chapter 6 - The Ghost in the Night
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Two weeks passed in a blur of agonizing tension.
Baby Leo grew stronger each day inside his glass incubator, finally opening his bright blue eyes to the world.
Claire spent twelve hours a day sitting beside the nursery glass, singing softly through the speaker system.
She looked healthier, color returning to her cheeks, though she remained painfully thin.
Vincent took advantage of his suspended syndicate duties to camp out in the hospital waiting room.
He showered in the private medical gym and had his meals brought in brown paper bags.
He wanted Claire to see his remorse.
He wanted her to believe that he had changed, that he was ready to become the devoted husband she deserved.
Whenever she allowed him into the nursery, he stood at a respectful distance, staring at his son with reverence.
“He has your nose, Claire,” Vincent whispered during one of those rare visits.
Claire did not respond.
She gently brushed her fingertip against Leo’s tiny wrist through the incubator sleeve.
“The doctors said he can go home by the end of the week,” Vincent added, hope creeping into his voice.
“I had our penthouse completely sanitized.”
“I hired three pediatric nurses to live on-site, and the nursery is painted pale blue just like you wanted.”
Claire stood up slowly, smoothing down the fabric of her dark knit sweater.
“That sounds very thorough, Vincent.”
Her tone was deceptively neutral, hiding the sharp razor hidden beneath the velvet.
Vincent’s heart leaped with desperate optimism, believing her cold armor was finally starting to melt.
The following evening, a severe thunderstorm rolled over the city of Chicago, lashing the hospital windows with torrential rain.
Vincent left the maternity ward for three hours to meet his personal accountants and finalize the transfer of the commercial trust.
He wanted the papers signed and stamped as a surprise gift for Claire when she was formally discharged the next morning.
He returned to the fourth floor at ten o'clock at night, carrying a damp umbrella and a leather folder filled with deeds.
The security guards he had placed outside her room were standing at attention as usual.
“Everything quiet?” Vincent asked, nodding toward the heavy door.
“Yes, boss,” the guard replied.
“Mrs. Moretti requested no interruptions while she rested before the discharge tomorrow.”
Vincent smiled faintly, feeling a rare moment of peace settle over his exhausted shoulders.
He gently pushed the door open to place the gift folder on her bedside table.
The room was completely dark.
Vincent flicked on the soft overhead lamp.
The hospital bed was empty, the white sheets pulled smooth and tight across the mattress.
The bedside table held no orchids, no diamond bracelets, and no personal belongings.
Vincent’s heart dropped into his stomach like a lead weight.
“Claire?” he called out, his voice trembling as he checked the attached bathroom.
The bathroom was sterile and bone-dry.
Vincent bolted out into the hallway, sprinting toward the neonatal intensive care wing with wild eyes.
He slammed his palms against the glass window of Incubator Seven.
The plastic chamber was empty.
The wires hung loose, and the cardiac monitors were switched off.
A night supervisor stepped out of the office, holding a clipboard with clinical detachment.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Where is my son?!” Vincent roared, grabbing the woman by the collar of her lab coat.
“Where is my wife?!”
Two security guards rushed forward to pull his hands away, though they trembled under his murderous glare.
“Mrs. Moretti checked out two hours ago,” the supervisor gasped, pointing toward the computer terminal.
“Her discharge was authorized by the chief of pediatrics.”
“She had full legal custody papers signed by the court, granting her sole authority to transport the child.”
Vincent staggered backward against the wall, clutching his chest as if his lungs had stopped functioning.
She had not softened.
May you like
She had not forgiven him.
She had simply waited for their son to become strong enough to travel before vanishing into the rain.
