Chapter 1 - THE CALL HE WOULD NEVER BE ABLE TO TAKE BACK
The contraction hit so hard I nearly dropped my phone, but my husband’s voice was colder than the hospital floor beneath my feet.
“Handle it yourself, Phoebe. Stop being so dramatic.”
For a second, I thought I had misheard him.
“Rowan?”
Music pulsed behind him. Glasses clinked. Someone laughed loudly enough for me to recognize his cousin Neil.
Another contraction rolled through me, tightening my entire body.
“Rowan, my water broke.”
“I heard you.”
“The contractions are four minutes apart.”
He sighed.
Not worried.
Not scared.
Annoyed.
“Then go inside.”
“I’m already at the hospital.”
“Great. Problem solved.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“You promised you’d be here.”
“Phoebe, Mom turns sixty once.”
I stared through the automatic glass doors at nurses rushing through the maternity lobby.
“And Leo is born once.”
There was a pause.
Then Selina’s voice floated through the background.
“Is she still doing this?”
My stomach dropped.
Rowan lowered his voice.
“Mom, please.”
“No, let me talk to her.”
I heard rustling.
Then my mother-in-law came through the speaker.
“Phoebe, women have been giving birth for thousands of years.”
I closed my eyes.
“Selina, I’m not asking you to leave your birthday dinner. I’m asking my husband to come to the birth of his son.”
“You’ve always needed an audience.”
I stopped breathing for a second.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Rowan took the phone back.
“Don’t start.”
“I’m in labor.”
“And somehow you’re still starting a fight.”
A nurse hurried toward me with a wheelchair.
“Ma’am?”
I held up one finger.
“Rowan. Please.”
Another silence.
For one humiliating second, I hated myself for begging.
Then he said the sentence that would eventually cost him almost everything.
“Call a cab.”
Something inside me went very still.
“All right.”
“What?”
“Enjoy the cake.”
“Phoebe—”
I ended the call.
The nurse crouched beside me.
“Is someone coming?”
I looked down at the black screen.
“Not my husband.”
Her expression softened, but she didn’t give me pity.
She simply said, “Then we take care of you until someone does.”
I let her help me into the wheelchair.
As she pushed me toward triage, I opened my contacts.
There was one name I had avoided for nearly two years.
Dad.
My thumb hovered over it.
The last time Gideon Sterling and I had been in the same room, we had both said things we regretted.
He had called my marriage reckless.
I had called his concern controlling.
He had told me Rowan liked the version of me who had nothing.
I had accused him of believing nobody could love me without wanting his money.
Then I had walked out.
He had never stopped texting on birthdays.
He had never stopped sending Christmas cards.
I had never answered.
Until now.
I pressed call.
He picked up after one ring.
“Phoebe?”
My throat closed.
“Dad.”
His voice changed instantly.
“Where are you?”
I started crying.
Not loudly.
Just enough that I couldn’t answer.
“Phoebe, tell me where you are.”
“St. Joseph’s.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m in labor.”
A beat of silence.
“Where’s Rowan?”
That question broke something loose inside me.
“At his mother’s birthday.”
Dad didn’t swear.
Gideon Sterling almost never swore.
He became quieter instead.
“I’m coming.”
“You’re two hours away.”
“I’m twenty minutes away.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“I had a meeting downtown.”
“You’re in the city?”
“Yes.”
“Dad…”
“Don’t waste a contraction arguing with me.”
Despite everything, I laughed through my tears.
The nurse glanced back.
“He sounds promising.”
“He’s complicated.”
“So are most people worth calling.”
Twenty-two minutes later, Gideon Sterling walked into the maternity ward wearing an old gray coat, his silver hair damp from rain.
No driver.
No security.
No expensive suit.
Just my father.
He spotted me immediately.
His face crumpled.
“Hey, kid.”
I had not been a kid for fifteen years.
But when he opened his arms, I reached for him.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“I should’ve called sooner.”
“No apologies tonight.”
“I said horrible things.”
“And I said some too.”
He took my hand.
“We can ruin Thanksgiving with guilt later.”
I laughed.
Then another contraction hit.
His grip tightened.
“Breathe.”
“You remember this?”
“I remember your mother threatening to kill me because I offered ice chips at the wrong time.”
A nurse smiled.
“Mr. Sterling?”
“Yes.”
“Are you her support person?”
He looked at me.
Only at me.
“Am I?”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
His eyes shone.
“Yes, I am.”
The next fourteen hours stripped away every illusion I still had about my marriage.
Rowan did not call.
He did not text.
He did not ask whether the baby was safe.
At midnight, Dad asked softly, “Do you want me to contact him?”
“No.”
“At all?”
“No.”
“He should know.”
“He knows.”
Dad didn’t argue.
At three in the morning, I was exhausted enough to shake.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“You sound like Mom.”
“Your mother was smarter than both of us.”
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean right now.”
“That’s fair.”
At 4:17 a.m., Leo James Mercer was born screaming.
The sound was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard.
When the nurse placed him on my chest, the world went silent.
He was red-faced and furious.
Perfect.
“Hi,” I whispered. “I’m your mom.”
Dad stood near the bed with one hand over his mouth.
The nurse glanced at him.
“Grandpa?”
He nodded.
She wrapped Leo and placed him carefully into his arms.
Gideon Sterling had negotiated billion-dollar acquisitions without blinking.
But holding his grandson reduced him to tears.
“He’s perfect.”
I watched the two of them.
Then my phone lit up.
ROWAN:
Mom loved the watch I bought her.
Coming home Monday.
Don’t start another fight.
Dad saw my expression.
“What did he say?”
I turned the screen over.
“Nothing important.”
But I took a screenshot.
Then I backed it up to my private cloud.
Dad noticed.
“You still archive everything?”
“I’m a forensic accountant.”
“You archive grocery receipts.”
“Receipts tell stories.”
He looked at me carefully.
Something changed in his face.
“What?”
I stared at the message.
Then at the time stamp.
Then at the mention of the watch.
The watch Rowan had claimed cost almost eight thousand dollars.
Purchased two weeks after he told me we needed to delay replacing the broken furnace because money was tight.
A small inconsistency.
Nothing more.
Except my job had taught me that large frauds rarely announced themselves with large clues.
They began with a payment that didn’t fit.
A receipt that shouldn’t exist.
A person who became defensive when asked a simple question.
Dad followed my gaze.
“Phoebe.”
“I think Rowan has been lying to me about money.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want help?”
I looked at Leo.
For the first time, the answer was easy.
“No.”
Dad raised an eyebrow.
“I want access to a laptop.”
A faint smile appeared.
“There’s my daughter.”
I leaned back against the pillow.
“And Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t tell Rowan who you are.”
His smile disappeared.
“Why?”
“Because he walked away from me when he thought I had nobody.”
May you like
I looked at my sleeping son.
“I want to see what he does when he still believes that.”
