Chapter 3: What She Never Told Me
I didn't sleep that night.
I sat in the hospital chair beside Irene's bed and watched the monitor track our baby's heartbeat.
Steady.
Small.
Alive.
I kept my hand near hers without touching it, afraid to wake her.
At 6 a.m., she opened her eyes.
She looked at me for a long moment before she spoke.
"You weren't supposed to come home."
"My flight was canceled."
She closed her eyes again.
A tear moved down the side of her face into the pillow.
"Irene." I leaned forward.
"How long has this been happening?"
She didn't answer right away.
"Since the eighth week," she finally said.
"When I told Margaret about the baby."
I sat back.
"She came to me the next morning," Irene continued, her voice flat, like she had rehearsed this and was tired of holding it.
"She said the baby changed things.
That your father's estate had a clause — a grandchild clause — and that if I gave birth before certain documents were transferred, the inheritance structure would shift.
She said she needed me to sign papers reassigning your share before the birth was registered."
"What papers?"
"A trust amendment.
It would have moved your portion of your father's estate into a joint account that only she controlled."
I stood up.
Walked to the window.
The parking lot below was pale gray in the early morning.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"She said if I told you, she would say I had been trying to manipulate you into cutting off your family.
She said you would believe her." Irene's voice broke slightly.
"And I wasn't sure she was wrong."
I turned around.
"Irene—"
"You love her, Austin.
She's your mother.
Every time she called while you were traveling, you lit up.
I watched you." She looked at the ceiling.
"I didn't think I could compete with that."
I crossed back to the chair and sat down close.
"You are not competing with anyone," I said.
"You are my wife.
You are carrying my child.
There is no competition."
She looked at me then.
Really looked.
"She told me that too," she said quietly.
"In the beginning.
Before she started coming into the bedroom at night."
My jaw tightened.
"She came at night?"
"When you were traveling.
She would wait until Rosa had gone to her room.
Then she would come in and sit in the chair by the door." Irene's hand moved to her stomach.
"She would just talk.
Quietly.
For an hour sometimes.
Telling me what I was.
What I had done to this family.
What would happen to me if I didn't cooperate."
I thought about all the trips I had taken in the past three months.
London.
Dubai.
Singapore.
I had called Irene every night.
She had always sounded tired.
I had assumed it was the pregnancy.
"Rosa saw some of it," Irene said.
"She tried to stay up.
To be nearby.
But Margaret told her it was private family business and threatened to have her dismissed."
"Rosa called me last night."
Irene's eyes widened slightly.
"She did?"
"She told me about Carla going through your medical bag."
The room went very quiet.
Irene looked down at her hands.
"My prenatal vitamins," she said.
"I kept running out faster than I should have.
I thought I was miscounting.
I didn't want to worry you." She paused.
"Three weeks ago I started hiding a separate bottle in my coat pocket."
Something cold settled in my chest.
"Irene.
What was Carla taking out of the bag?"
She met my eyes.
"I don't know for certain.
But I started feeling better the week after I hid the second bottle."
I stood up again.
I needed to move or I was going to put my fist through the wall.
"I have to make a call," I said.
"Austin." Her voice stopped me at the door.
"The documents she wanted me to sign — I never signed them.
But she told me last week that it didn't matter anymore.
That she had found another way."
I turned back slowly.
"What does that mean?"
Irene shook her head.
May you like
"I don't know.
But she said it like she had already won."
