Chapter 6 - Are They Alive?
That night, after Noah and Elise slept, Vivien opened the envelope.
The first page was Cassidy’s hospital intake.
Female. Late twenties. Penetrating wound beneath left ribs. Severe blood loss. Emergency surgery.
Vivien pressed a hand to her mouth.
The second page was Damian’s 911 call transcript.
My sister-in-law has been stabbed. My wife just walked in and misunderstood. Send help now.
My wife just walked in and misunderstood.
Vivien could not breathe.
The third page was a still from the penthouse hallway camera.
Cassidy stumbling from the service corridor alone, one hand pressed to her side.
Blood visible before she entered the study.
Before Damian touched her.
Before Vivien arrived.
The fourth was Greer’s file.
The fifth Celia’s testimony.
The sixth an investigator’s report documenting Damian’s search.
Daily for the first year.
Weekly after that.
Never closed.
Then she found a photograph.
The nursery.
Two cribs.
Pale green walls.
A bookshelf.
And on the rug between the cribs, the bent sonogram.
Vivien made it to the kitchen sink before she vomited.
The next morning, she called Cassidy.
Her voice was raw.
“Does he know?”
Cassidy was silent for a long moment.
“No.”
“Don’t tell him yet.”
“Vivien—”
“Please.”
Cassidy exhaled shakily.
“Okay.”
“Does he hate me?”
Cassidy’s answer came quickly.
“No.”
That hurt more than yes.
Two weeks later, Vivien returned to New York alone.
She left Noah and Elise with Nora because she needed to see Damian before she let him near the children.
Not because he had done wrong.
Because four years of fear had made her careful.
And because part of her was terrified that seeing him would make her collapse into apology before she knew how to protect the children from everyone’s grief.
Cassidy arranged the meeting.
Same penthouse.
Same study.
Same rain.
Vivien almost turned around at the door.
Then she remembered the page with Cassidy’s blood before the study.
She remembered the nursery.
She remembered Damian’s first words on the 911 call.
She opened the door.
Damian stood by the window.
He turned.
For one second, he looked like the man she had left.
Then four years moved through his face.
“Vivien.”
He did not approach.
That saved her.
If he had rushed her, she might have run again.
His hand gripped the edge of the desk.
White knuckles.
He looked thinner.
Older.
Not weak.
Wounded in a way power could not cover.
She could not speak.
He looked at her stomach first.
Not because he expected her to still be pregnant.
Because that was where his memory had stopped.
Then his eyes rose.
“You know?” he asked.
Vivien nodded.
His face shifted.
Hope and terror at once.
“Are they alive?”
The question broke her completely.
Not Are they mine?
Not Where did you hide them?
Not How could you do this to me?
Are they alive?
She covered her mouth and nodded.
Damian turned away as if struck.
Both hands went to the desk.
His shoulders shook once.
Then again.
“Thank God,” he whispered.
Vivien began crying.
“A boy and a girl.”
Damian shut his eyes.
His face collapsed.
“What are their names?”
“Noah and Elise.”
He repeated them under his breath.
“Noah. Elise.”
Like if he said them carefully enough, the missing years might not shatter around him.
“Do they know about me?” he asked.
Vivien’s shame rose hot and unbearable.
“They know they have a father.”
He nodded.
Not accepting.
Absorbing.
“That’s more than I deserved from your fear,” he said quietly.
She looked at him.
“Don’t make this noble.”
His eyes lifted.
“I’m not.”
“I stole four years.”
“Yes.”
The word hit her.
He did not soften it.
Good.
She needed the truth to hurt cleanly.
“I thought you betrayed me.”
“I know.”
“I thought Cassidy betrayed me.”
“I know.”
“I thought staying would kill me.”
His expression changed.
This time, his voice softened.
“I know.”
That undid her.
“Why aren’t you screaming at me?”
Damian looked toward the floor where the sonogram had once fallen.
“Because I screamed for four years in rooms where you couldn’t hear me.”
Vivien sobbed.
He stayed still.
No hands.
No touch.
No claim.
“You can hate me,” she whispered.
“I tried.”
“And?”
“I could hate the empty nursery. The unanswered leads. Greer. The man who stabbed Cassidy. The storm. The elevator. Myself.”
He looked at her.
“But I could never hate the woman who walked into that room pregnant and saw what looked like the one thing that would destroy her.”
Vivien pressed both hands over her face.
“I should have listened.”
“Yes.”
“I should have looked at the blood.”
“Yes.”
“I should have stayed.”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
There it was.
Not cruelty.
Truth.
He stepped forward one pace, then stopped.
“I should have told you Greer was under investigation. I kept danger from you because I thought protection meant silence.”
Vivien lowered her hands.
“And I turned silence into proof.”
“Yes.”
They stood in the study with four years between them.
May you like
No embrace could cross it.
Not yet.
