“You can touch his hand.”
I slipped one finger through the opening.
His fingers closed around it.
Weakly.
That was enough.
I started crying.
Not dignified tears.
Not controlled.
I cried like someone had cracked me open.
“My son.”
The words felt impossible.
Then right.
PART 15
The nurse asked if we had chosen a name.
I laughed through tears.
“I didn’t know he existed until an hour ago.”
She looked embarrassed.
“Sorry.”
“No.”
“It’s okay.”
Then she said.
“His chart says his mother chose Oliver.”
Oliver.
I smiled.
Sienna had always liked that name.
Years earlier, before we were even trying for children, she once said.
“If we ever have a boy, Oliver.”
I had joked.
“Sounds like a British accountant.”
She threw a pillow at me.
Now our son was Oliver.
I touched his hand again.
“Hi, Oliver.”
PART 16
When I returned to Sienna’s room, she was sleeping.
I sat quietly.
Then my phone rang.
Margaret.
My mother.
I stared at her name.
For the first time in my life, seeing it made me feel physically sick.
I declined the call.
She called again.
Then texted.
I heard you left the signing.
Everything okay?
I stared.
She did not know where I was.
Good.
Not yet.
I typed.
We need to talk.
Then stopped.
Deleted it.
No.
Not until I knew more.
PART 17
Marcus called next.
My business partner.
“Ethan.”
“Yes.”
“You disappeared.”
“I know.”
“Are you okay?”
I looked at Sienna sleeping.
Then toward the NICU hallway.
“No.”
“What happened?”
I hesitated.
Then told him.
“My son was born.”
Silence.
Then.
“Your what?”
Exactly.
I explained enough.
Marcus said.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I’m not asking.”
That was Marcus.
Good friend.
PART 18
Marcus arrived with coffee.
Hospital coffee.
Terrible.
Perfect.
He listened.
Then asked.
“Do you think your mother did all this?”
“Yes.”
He looked troubled.
“I don’t want to say I told you so.”
I stared.
“What?”
He hesitated.
“She called me during your separation.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“Three times.”
“What did she want?”
“To know whether you were seeing anyone.”
I stared.
“What did you say?”
“That you weren’t.”
“And?”
“She kept asking about Naomi.”
There it was.
Again.
PART 19
Marcus continued.
“I told her Naomi was married.”
“To Claire.”
“She acted surprised.”
My hands clenched.
“So she knew.”
Marcus nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
“And she still told Sienna I was involved with Naomi.”
Apparently.
Then Marcus said.
“There’s more.”
I almost laughed.
Of course.
“What?”
“Your mother asked me not to contact Sienna.”
“Why?”
“She said lawyers were involved.”
“She said any communication through friends could complicate things.”
I closed my eyes.
She had isolated both of us.
Not just technologically.
Socially.
PART 20
Marcus said.
“I believed her.”
“So did I.”
That was the worst part.
Margaret’s plan worked because she knew how much everyone trusted her confidence.
She never sounded uncertain.
Never angry.
Never dramatic.
She sounded helpful.
Concerned.
Practical.
That made the lies easier to accept.
PART 21
Sienna woke later.
Marcus stepped out.
I asked.
“Did my mother ever give you documents?”
She nodded.
“Several.”
“Can you still access them?”
“Some.”
“Where?”
“My apartment.”
I paused.
Then remembered.
Our old apartment became hers after the separation.
I moved into a downtown condo.
She had stayed there through pregnancy.
Alone.
That hurt.
I asked.
“Did anyone help you?”
“My sister.”
“Some friends.”
“Your mother once.”
I stared.
“She came over?”
Sienna nodded.
“Twice.”
“When?”
“Early.”
“Before I changed the locks.”
My stomach tightened.
Margaret had access to Sienna’s space too.
PART 22
Sienna said.
“She took some boxes from your old office.”
“What boxes?”
“Files.”
“She said you asked for them.”
“I didn’t.”
Sienna closed her eyes.
“Of course.”
I stood.
Inside those boxes had been copies of financial documents.
Password records.
Old phone statements.
Business contacts.
Personal papers.
Margaret had collected information while we were both vulnerable.
For what?
Divorce?
Control?
Something else?
PART 23
I called Peter Lane.
My divorce attorney.
He answered quickly.
“Ethan.”
“Peter.”
“Everything okay?”
“No.”
“I need to ask you something.”
“Go ahead.”
“Who hired you?”
Silence.
Then.
“What?”
“Who first contacted you about my divorce?”
Longer silence.
“Your mother.”
My chest tightened.
“I thought so.”
Peter continued.
“She said you wanted representation immediately.”
“She said you were overwhelmed and authorized her to begin.”
“Did I ever say that?”
“You signed the engagement letter.”
I froze.
“When?”
“At your office.”
I remembered signing several documents one afternoon.
Margaret had dropped off a folder.
Said it was related to estate planning after my father’s death.
I barely read them.
God.
I had signed.
PART 24
I asked.
“Did you ever speak to me before filing?”
Peter hesitated.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I believed your mother had authority to coordinate.”
“That is not an answer.”
He sounded uncomfortable.
“You signed the agreement.”
“And the divorce complaint?”
“Electronic signature.”
My stomach dropped.
“I never authorized an electronic signature on a divorce complaint.”
Silence.
Then Peter said.
“We need to meet.”
Yes.
Immediately.
PART 25
