“I just gave birth,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The silence came immediately.
The wedding music continued, but Adrian’s laughter v@nished.
“What did you say?”
“I said I gave birth.”
“Whose child is it?”
There was a time when that question would have des.troy.ed me.
There was a time when I was the Emma who cried in court while he calmly convinced everyone I was unstable, emotional, and resentful. The woman he man!pulated into losing the Upper East Side home, the Carter Holdings stock, and every ounce of dignity I once possessed.
But that version of Emma was gone.
I pulled the pink blanket more securely around my daughter.
“Go back to your bride, Adrian.”
“Emma…” His voice sharpened. “Tell me that baby isn’t mine.”
I turned my eyes toward the window.
The city shimmered beneath the rain, dark and beautiful.
“You signed every paper without reading it. You always despised details.”
Thirty minutes later, my hospital room door flew open.
Adrian rushed inside, still wearing his tuxedo, sweat staining the fabric, his bow tie loosened and hanging unevenly. Vanessa followed close behind in her wedding gown, her veil trailing across the floor, diamonds trembling at her throat.
Adrian froze the instant he saw the baby.
