Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN OUTSIDE THE NURSERY WINDOW
"Eleven days before they were born?"
Gabriel repeated the words as though he couldn't make sense of them.
Serena reached for the folder.
"Give me that. It's obviously being taken out of context."
Gabriel pulled it away.
"Then explain the context."
Her cheeks flushed.
"That paperwork is confidential."
"So are my children."
I had never heard him say those words before.
My children.
For a heartbeat, I wanted to believe they meant something.
Then I remembered how easily Gabriel had once promised to protect me.
Promises were cheap in the Cross family.
I took the folder from him.
The document listed my former apartment address, the hospital where I'd delivered, and the expected date of birth.
Only three people outside my medical team had known those details.
My mother.
My obstetrician.
And the nurse who had helped me through a terrifying pregnancy.
My mother had died two years earlier.
My doctor had moved to Vermont.
The nurse still worked at the hospital.
"Where did you get my medical information?" I asked.
Serena pressed her lips together.
"From a legitimate charitable referral."
"I never requested assistance from your foundation."
"No. But somebody requested assistance on your behalf."
Gabriel's eyes narrowed.
"Who?"
Serena stared toward the window.
"Your brother."
The room went silent.
Nicholas Cross.
Gabriel's older half-brother.
The man who managed much of the family's legitimate financial empire while Gabriel controlled its more dangerous operations.
Nicholas had attended our wedding.
He had once told me I was the best thing that ever happened to Gabriel.
And after the divorce, he'd personally supervised the removal of my belongings from the mansion.
"Why would Nicholas open a file on my unborn children?" I asked.
Serena looked irritated.
"Because he wanted to protect the family."
"From what?" Gabriel demanded.
She didn't answer.
Leo interrupted us.
"Mommy, can we have crackers?"
The ordinary question pulled me back to reality.
I crouched beside him.
"Of course, sweetheart."
Miriam brought a plate of crackers and moved the boys to a table near the far wall.
Julian began drawing a lighthouse.
He had loved them ever since we'd visited the coast last summer.
He said a lighthouse was like a night-light for boats.
Gabriel watched him.
"Does he always draw those?"
"When he's nervous."
Gabriel looked away.
For the first time, I wondered whether he understood that frightening our children was something money couldn't repair.
Miriam returned to us.
"There are more pages."
She turned over the first sheet.
Beneath it lay an authorization for medical expenses.
I stared at the amount.
Eighty-four thousand dollars.
The exact amount of an emergency neonatal bill that had mysteriously disappeared from my hospital account.
I'd spent months trying to understand why the balance had been paid.
The hospital billing office told me an anonymous donor had covered it.
I'd believed it was a miracle.
Now I wasn't sure what to believe.
"Serena paid this?" I whispered.
Miriam nodded reluctantly.
"Through a foundation-administered medical assistance account."
Gabriel looked at Serena.
"Why?"
Something changed in her expression.
For a second, the practiced confidence fell away.
"Because one of them was dying."
I felt the air leave my chest.
"Don't."
Serena looked at me.
"Claire—"
"Don't talk about my son like you were there holding him."
But she had opened a door I couldn't close.
Mateo had been the smallest of my boys.
He'd arrived weighing barely four pounds.
For eleven days, machines helped him breathe.
I remembered sitting beside his incubator with a little blue knitted cap in my hands.
My mother had sewn three tiny silver stars into it.
One for each grandson.
I had kissed that cap every night because I was terrified I might never get to put it on his head.
Gabriel gripped the back of a chair.
"Mateo was in intensive care?"
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"Eleven days."
He looked toward our son.
Mateo was quietly eating crackers, unaware that his father had just discovered one of the worst weeks of my life.
Gabriel lowered himself into the chair.
"Nobody told me."
I felt something harden inside me.
"I tried."
He covered his mouth.
And there it was.
The difference between us.
Gabriel was experiencing the pain of not knowing.
I had lived through the pain of being there.
Serena spoke softly.
"I arranged payment because I couldn't let an innocent baby suffer."
For one uncomfortable moment, I believed her.
Then Miriam turned another page.
There were monthly charges.
Not for hospital care.
For private surveillance.
Addresses.
Vehicle registrations.
Childcare enrollment confirmations.
Photographs.
Five years of them.
Gabriel stood so abruptly that the chair scraped across the floor.
"Who authorized this?"
Serena's voice trembled.
"Nicholas."
"With your signature."
"He controlled the accounts. I approved the transfers."
"Why would you agree?"
She looked at me.
"Because Nicholas told me Claire was planning to use the children against you."
I laughed, but there was no humor in it.
"I was working double shifts at a medical clinic. I was buying secondhand winter coats and stretching groceries until payday."
Serena looked ashamed.
"That's not what he told me."
"Did you ever bother asking?"
She couldn't meet my eyes.
Gabriel took out his phone, then stopped.
He glanced toward the children and put it away.
"Where is Nicholas tonight?"
Miriam answered.
"He's chairing the foundation's financial committee meeting downstairs."
"Bring him here," Gabriel told Noah, who was standing outside the open lounge door.
Noah hesitated.
"Boss, the press has started gathering near the entrance."
"Then use the staff corridor. No threats. I want him to answer questions."
Noah left.
Serena sat down heavily.
"You don't understand what you're opening, Gabriel."
"Then help me understand."
"If Nicholas finds out that file was released—"
"He'll do what?"
She looked frightened enough that I stopped breathing for a moment.
Not theatrical fear.
Real fear.
Before anyone could speak, Miriam removed a small photograph from the final pocket of the folder.
"I found this tucked behind the expense records."
It was a hospital photograph.
Three newborn babies lay inside the neonatal nursery.
Two slept peacefully.
The smallest was surrounded by tubes and wires.
I knew that room.
I knew those blankets.
I knew the tiny blue cap resting beside Mateo's incubator.
My knees nearly buckled.
"Where did you get this?"
Miriam shook her head.
"It was already in the file."
Gabriel stared at the photograph.
Then he turned it slightly toward the light.
"Claire. Look."
I leaned closer.
The nursery windows were polished glass.
And reflected in the corner was a woman wearing a pale coat.
An expensive white orchid brooch glittered on her collar.
I looked at Serena.
The same brooch was pinned to her evening gown.
"You were there," I whispered.
She closed her eyes.
"I never went inside."
"You stood outside the nursery."
"Claire, I—"
I wasn't listening anymore.
Because Gabriel had moved his finger toward another figure reflected in the glass.
A tall man stood beside Serena.
He wore a dark suit and a heavy silver signet ring.
A ring I'd seen hundreds of times at Cross family dinners.
Gabriel stared at the image.
Then he spoke a name that made Serena begin to cry.
"Nicholas."
His voice turned cold.
"Why was my brother standing outside my sons' nursery?"
May you like
And behind us, a familiar voice answered from the doorway.
"Because someone had to make sure they survived."
