Chapter 2 - THE MAN HOLDING HIS SON
Three days after Leo was born, Rowan came home smelling like expensive cologne and airport coffee.
He opened the front door at eleven seventeen in the morning.
I knew the exact time because by then, details mattered.
Every detail.
“Phoebe?”
I was sitting on the sofa with a blanket around my shoulders.
Dad stood near the window, Leo asleep against his chest.
Rowan walked into the living room carrying a leather overnight bag.
“I thought you’d still be—”
He stopped.
The bag slipped from his hand.
His face went completely white.
Dad turned.
For the first time in our marriage, Rowan Mercer stood face-to-face with Gideon Sterling.
Not “Phoebe’s absent father.”
Not “some retired salesman.”
Gideon Sterling.
Founder of Sterling Capital.
A man Rowan had once described during dinner as “the shark every junior executive in Manhattan wants to impress.”
Rowan’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Dad looked at me.
“This him?”
I nodded.
Rowan found his voice.
“Mr. Sterling?”
Dad’s eyes hardened.
“That depends.”
Rowan stared from him to me.
Then back again.
“Why are you holding my son?”
Dad looked down at Leo.
“Because somebody had to.”
The words landed harder than shouting.
Rowan’s face tightened.
“Phoebe.”
“Hello, Rowan.”
“You had the baby?”
I stared at him.
“You knew I was in labor.”
“I didn’t know it happened that night.”
“You never asked.”
“That’s not fair.”
Dad moved slightly.
I lifted one hand.
“I can handle this.”
He nodded and carried Leo toward the kitchen.
Rowan watched him go.
“Gideon Sterling is your father?”
“Yes.”
“You told me your father was retired.”
“He is mostly retired.”
“You said he worked in sales.”
“He sold companies.”
Rowan stared.
“That is not the same thing.”
“No. It isn’t.”
He dragged a hand through his hair.
“Why would you hide this?”
I almost laughed.
“Interesting first question.”
“What?”
“You came home three days after your child was born, and your first crisis is my father’s net worth.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then ask about Leo.”
His jaw clenched.
“Is he healthy?”
“Yes.”
“Was the delivery okay?”
“Fourteen hours.”
“Phoebe…”
“Dad was there.”
Rowan glanced toward the kitchen.
“Why him?”
“Because he answered.”
Silence.
Rowan sat opposite me.
“You’re angry.”
“I’m finished.”
His eyes narrowed.
“With what?”
“Our marriage.”
He stared at me for several seconds.
Then he gave a short laugh.
“You just had a baby.”
“Yes.”
“You’re hormonal.”
My entire body went cold.
“Be very careful.”
“I’m saying you’re emotional.”
“I called you in labor.”
“You were safe.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You were at a hospital.”
“And if something had gone wrong?”
“It didn’t.”
“That’s your defense?”
He stood.
“Mom’s birthday had been planned for months.”
“So was my pregnancy.”
“You could have waited until morning to make this dramatic.”
“Labor rarely checks calendars.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Can we not do this in front of your father?”
“He already heard enough in the delivery room.”
Rowan looked embarrassed.
Good.
“I’m Leo’s father.”
“Yes.”
“I have rights.”
“Yes.”
Dad reentered the room.
“Rights come with responsibilities.”
Rowan’s expression shifted immediately.
Polite.
Controlled.
Almost deferential.
“Mr. Sterling, I understand this looks bad.”
Dad handed Leo carefully to me.
“It doesn’t look bad.”
Rowan relaxed slightly.
“It is bad.”
His face hardened.
Dad sat beside me.
“My daughter called you while she was in active labor.”
“I made a mistake.”
“You mocked her.”
“I was stressed.”
“You laughed.”
Rowan looked at me.
“You recorded me?”
“No.”
“Then how does he know?”
“I told him.”
Rowan exhaled sharply.
“This is a private marital issue.”
Dad nodded.
“It was.”
“What does that mean?”
“It became my concern when my daughter arrived home from the hospital unable to climb the stairs while her husband was still celebrating.”
“I said I was coming Monday.”
Dad’s expression barely changed.
“Congratulations.”
“What?”
“You successfully remembered which day you planned to return.”
“Dad,” I said quietly.
He stopped.
Rowan looked at me.
“I want to hold my son.”
My instinct screamed no.
But Leo was his child.
I couldn’t build my future by behaving irrationally just because Rowan had.
I stood carefully.
“Sit down.”
“What?”
“You can hold him.”
His face softened.
“Phoebe…”
“Sit.”
He did.
I placed Leo in his arms.
For one brief moment, Rowan changed.
His shoulders dropped.
His eyes filled.
“Hey.”
Leo stirred.
Rowan swallowed.
“Hey, little man.”
I looked away.
That hurt more than I expected.
Because Rowan wasn’t incapable of love.
He was capable of choosing when love was convenient.
Dad watched me.
He understood.
Then Rowan said, “We can fix this.”
I turned back.
“No.”
“I was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll apologize.”
“That isn’t enough.”
“What do you want?”
“Transparency.”
He frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“I want the household accounts.”
“They’re on the app.”
“All of them.”
His face changed.
Barely.
But I saw it.
“What other accounts?”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t know what you’re implying.”
“I haven’t implied anything.”
I watched his fingers tighten around Leo’s blanket.
“I’m asking.”
“Phoebe, this is insane.”
Dad leaned back.
I didn’t look at him.
“Why did Selina’s birthday watch cost eight thousand dollars when you told me we couldn’t afford to replace the furnace?”
Rowan froze.
“It was my money.”
“We’re married.”
“I earned it.”
I stared at him.
“So did I.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“You work from home half the time.”
Dad’s eyebrow lifted.
I almost smiled.
Rowan had no idea that my “work from home” consulting contracts sometimes billed more in a month than his salary did in three.
Because I had never needed him to know.
Now, suddenly, I wondered whether that had been a mistake.
Rowan stood and handed Leo back.
“I’m not doing an interrogation.”
“I didn’t ask for one.”
“You’re acting like an auditor.”
“I am an auditor.”
“A forensic accountant.”
“Exactly.”
He grabbed his bag.
“Where are you going?”
“My mother’s.”
I nodded.
“Good.”
He stopped.
“You’re really kicking me out?”
“No.”
I looked him directly in the eyes.
“You’re choosing to leave again.”
That hit him.
For half a second, he looked uncertain.
Then pride won.
“This isn’t over.”
“No,” I said. “It isn’t.”
He left.
The door slammed.
Dad waited.
Then he asked, “What did you see?”
“He was scared.”
“Of divorce?”
“No.”
May you like
I looked toward the hallway.
“Of the accounts.”
