Chapter 7: The Calm Before He Walked In
Caleb arrived at 1:15 in the afternoon.
Rosalie knew he was in the building before anyone told her, because Dara came back from the corridor with a particular expression — the one she used when she was deciding how much to say.
"He's at the front desk," Dara said.
"They told him he's not on the authorization list.
He's being very polite about it."
"He's always polite in public."
"He asked them to call your room.
I told the nurse to say you're resting."
"Let him in," Rosalie said.
Dara stopped.
"Are you sure?"
"I want to hear what he says." Rosalie adjusted Nora in the bassinet beside the bed, making sure she was settled.
"And I want him to see her."
Dara looked at the bassinet.
Then back at Rosalie.
Then she went to the door and nodded at the nurse in the corridor.
Caleb came in two minutes later.
He looked like himself.
That was the first thing Rosalie noticed.
He had slept.
He had changed clothes.
He was carrying a small bunch of flowers — pale yellow, wrapped in paper — and his expression was exactly what she had predicted.
Careful.
Remorseful.
Reasonable.
He stopped when he saw the bassinet.
Something moved across his face.
It was fast and she almost missed it.
Not love.
Not quite.
Something more complicated than that.
"Rosalie." His voice was quiet.
"How are you?"
"Sit down, Caleb."
He sat in the chair Giancarlo had occupied the night before.
He set the flowers on the edge of the table without asking where to put them.
"I want to explain last night," he said.
"Go ahead."
"My mother was out of line.
I know that.
What she did to your plate, grabbing you like that — that was wrong and I should have stopped her immediately.
I didn't, and I'm sorry."
"Keep going."
He looked at her carefully.
The apology had landed without the reaction he expected.
"The document you saw — the one that man brought in — it's not what it looks like.
My mother asked our attorney to draw something up because she was worried about the birth plan.
She has anxiety.
She gets controlling when she's anxious.
It was never meant to be filed."
"Your attorney sent it to my father because he refused to file it."
A small pause.
"Marcus overreacted."
"Marcus has a seven-year-old daughter," Rosalie said.
"He told me."
Caleb was quiet.
"The trust restructure, Caleb.
Tell me about that one."
The pause was longer this time.
"That was a financial planning conversation.
It got complicated.
I should have included you."
"You reclassified my inheritance.
You named your mother as the administrator of my child's financial interests."
"It wasn't finalized—"
"It was filed.
Preliminary motion.
Nine days from now." She watched his face.
"You know the date.
You've known it for weeks."
Caleb set his hands flat on his knees.
The flowers sat untouched on the table.
"I love you," he said.
"I love that baby.
Whatever you think I was trying to do—"
"I don't think anything," Rosalie said.
"I have the documents.
I have the internal communications between you and your mother about the timeline.
I have the name of the second attorney.
I have all of it, Caleb.
Timestamped.
Backed up." She kept her voice level.
"So I'm not asking you what you were trying to do.
I already know."
The careful expression didn't disappear.
But something behind it did.
"What do you want?" he said.
"I want you to leave."
"Rosalie—"
"I want you to leave this room, and I want you to tell your mother to withdraw the paternity filing against my father, and I want your attorney to drop the trust motion before the hearing." She looked at him steadily.
"If those three things happen in the next 48 hours, the documents Marcus sent me stay where they are."
Caleb looked at her for a long moment.
Then he looked at the bassinet.
"Can I see her?"
The question was quiet.
Almost genuine.
Rosalie looked at her daughter.
At the small fist pressed against the small cheek.
"No," she said.
Caleb stood.
He picked up the flowers.
He stood there holding them for a moment as if he wasn't sure what to do with them.
Then he set them back on the table and walked to the door.
He stopped with his hand on the frame.
"My mother isn't going to drop anything," he said.
"You know that."
"I know," Rosalie said.
"That's why I gave you 48 hours instead of asking her directly."
He left.
The door closed behind him.
Dara came out of the bathroom where she had been standing silently for the last twelve minutes.
"You recorded that," Dara said.
Rosalie held up her phone.
The voice memo app was still running.
May you like
She stopped it.
"I recorded that," she said.
