I never answered Kellan's text.

I deleted it and made Preston eggs instead.

"Over easy," I said, sliding the plate across the counter. "The way you like."

He looked at the eggs. Then at me. "What's this?"

"Breakfast. You have the Halvorsen call at nine."

He smiled slowly, like a man counting money. "See, Audrey? This is the woman I married."

That month, I wore the navy dress to his company gala. I laughed at his jokes. I let his CFO's wife touch my belly and coo.

"You two are goals," she said.

"He's wonderful," I said. Preston squeezed my waist.

He stopped checking my phone. Mallory stopped hiding.

I found them in the kitchen first, her back pressed against the fridge, his mouth on her neck. I turned around and walked out. Then on the balcony, her arms wrapped around him under the string lights I'd hung for our fifth anniversary. Then one Sunday, the downstairs bathroom door was locked, and I heard her giggle through the wood.

I went upstairs. I read Iris a chapter of *Charlotte's Web.*

One evening, Mallory came down the stairs wearing my pearl earrings. My grandmother's.

She tilted her head toward Preston. "Do I look like the real Mrs. Callahan?"

He glanced at me. Then back at her.

"Closer every day," he said.

My nails dug half-moons into my palm. I said nothing. I took my progesterone with a glass of water and went to bed.

At night, Iris kicked. Little flutters at first, then real thumps. I sat on the floor of the nursery, in the dark, between the crib and the rocking chair, and cried until my ribs ached.

"Soon," I whispered to her. "We're leaving soon. I promise."

---

In my last month, Preston packed a bag.

"Client trip. Miami. Three days."

"Is Mallory going?"

"She's handling my schedule." He zipped the bag without looking up. "Don't start."

Two days later, my water broke on the kitchen tile.

At St. Augustine's, a nurse held out a clipboard. "Emergency C-section. Baby's heart rate is dropping. Is there anyone—"

"No." I took the pen. My hand was shaking so badly the signature looked like a seismograph. "Just me."

She called him anyway. I heard her side of it from the hallway.

"Sir, your wife is in surgery—yes—no, she didn't—" A pause. Her voice went flat. "I'll tell her."

She came back to my bed and wouldn't meet my eyes.

"What did he say?"

"He said he can't get a flight back tonight." She hesitated. "And that you shouldn't use giving birth to make him come home."

I laughed. It came out wet.

"Okay," I said. "Thank you for telling me the truth."

Iris was born at 3:12 a.m. Six pounds, one ounce. She screamed like she was furious at the whole world.

Good, I thought. Stay furious.

Preston showed up two days later with a tan line and a bouquet from the gift shop. He scooped Iris up, angled her toward the window light, and snapped twelve photos.

"Sending this to the whole office." His thumbs flew. "*Meet the heir to Callahan Freight.* They're going to lose it."

Iris started wailing.

He held her out to me at arm's length, like a package with the wrong address. His phone buzzed. Mallory's name glowed on the screen.

"Gotta take this."

He was out the door before I'd even settled her against my chest.

---

The board meeting started at ten. By ten-twenty, I was in an elevator at Royce Group headquarters, Iris strapped to my chest, a diaper bag cutting into my shoulder.

"Mr. Royce doesn't take walk-ins," the assistant said. His name tag read *Daniel Okafor.*

"Tell him it's about Delmore Clinic."

Daniel's eyebrows rose. He picked up the phone.

Ninety seconds later, I was inside.

Kellan stood behind his desk. He didn't sit. His eyes went to the baby, and something in his jaw locked.

"Daniel. Take the child to the lounge."

"She has a name," I said.

"Take her to the lounge."

Daniel lifted Iris gently from the carrier. She fussed. The door to the side room closed, and then Kellan crossed the office and shut the main door too. The lock snapped.

"Talk."

"I don't know how to make this easier—"

"Don't make it easier. Make it fast." He came around the desk. "What makes you think that child is mine?"

"Delmore Clinic. Dr. Helena Shaw. Sample number RX-4471." I made myself hold his stare. "You banked it four years ago before your surgery. They used it in my transfer by mistake."

He went very still.

Then he moved.

He stepped forward, and I stepped back, and my calves hit the leather sofa. I dropped onto the cushion. He planted one knee between my thighs and braced a hand on the backrest beside my head. Cedar. Cold eyes. Too close.

"Let me guess," he said quietly. "You found out months ago. You said nothing. You carried it anyway. And now you walk in here with a baby and a sample number." His voice turned to ice. "Why on earth would you think I'd claim a child you had behind my back?"

My hand swung before I decided to swing it.

The crack echoed off the glass walls.

His head turned with it. For a second, neither of us breathed.

Then he pulled back. He stood, straightened his jacket, and put the whole width of the coffee table between us. A red mark bloomed on his cheek. He didn't touch it.

"I didn't come for your money." My voice shook, and I hated it. "I don't want a check. I don't want your name. And I will never hand Iris to anyone. Not to you. Not to anybody."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because you deserve to know she exists." I stood. "That's all. Now you know."

I opened the lounge door. Iris was red-faced and howling in Daniel's arms.

"I'm sorry," Daniel said. "She hasn't stopped."

I took her and turned back toward the main door. Kellan was standing right there, blocking the way. I hadn't heard him move.

"Excuse me," I said.

Iris flailed. Her tiny fist smacked against his hand, caught his index finger, and held on.

She stopped crying.

Just like that. Silence. Her wet eyes blinked up at him.

Kellan didn't move. I watched his shoulders go rigid, like someone had pressed a blade to his spine. This was the man who'd yanked his wrist away from my fingers at the Lennox.

He didn't pull his finger back.

"Mr. Royce?" Daniel said carefully.

Kellan swallowed. His eyes never left her face.

"Schedule a paternity test," he said. "Today. Private lab. No records leave this building."

"Yes, sir."

Then he looked at me, and his voice dropped low enough that only I could hear.

"Until the results come back, neither of you disappears."

Iris squeezed his finger tighter.

In my bag, my phone started buzzing. I didn't have to look. Only one person called four times in a row.

Kellan's gaze dropped to the screen glowing through the mesh pocket.

*Preston.*

"Answer it," he said. "I want to hear how he talks to you."