Chapter 6 - The First Night
Elizabeth didn't answer me verbally. She turned away from the sofa, wiping her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, and hurried down the hallway toward the nursery.
I didn't move. I stood in the center of the living room, listening to the muffled sound of her voice soothing the baby, and felt a strange, terrifying sense of suspension. For the first time in my adult life, I had no control over the outcome. There was no leverage to apply, no board of directors to charm, no legal loophole to exploit.
A moment later, Elizabeth reappeared in the doorway.
She was carrying Chloe in her arms. The baby was blinking sleepily, wearing a faded onesie with little yellow ducks on it, her dark curls standing up in tufts around her head.
Elizabeth stopped a few feet away, looking at me with a mixture of exhaustion and profound uncertainty.
“She’s hungry,” Elizabeth said quietly. “And I haven't had time to pump formula today because I was covering a double shift.”
I looked at the baby. The baby looked at me, those large gray-blue eyes locking onto mine with an uncanny, serious intensity.
“Do you want to hold her?” Elizabeth asked, her voice barely a whisper.
My stomach dropped. For all my corporate bravado, the thought of holding a fragile, twelve-month-old human being terrified me more than a hostile corporate takeover.
“I... I might drop her,” I murmured, my hands curling into fists at my sides.
“You won't drop her,” Elizabeth said, stepping closer and gently shifting Chloe forward. “Support her head. Like this.”
Slowly, awkwardly, I extended my arms.
Elizabeth placed Chloe against my chest. The baby let out a tiny squeak of surprise, her small hands instinctively reaching out to grab the lapel of my expensive navy suit jacket.
Then, she tilted her head back, studying my face with those familiar eyes, and let out a soft, bubbling giggle that sounded suspiciously like my own laugh.
Something inside my chest unlocked. A warmth spread outward from my ribs, filling the empty spaces that had been hollowed out by years of ambition and isolation.
“She has your eyes,” I whispered, unable to look away.
“She has your stubborn streak, too,” Elizabeth replied softly, a faint, ghost of a smile touching her lips for the first time in three years.
That night, I didn't go back to my penthouse.
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I stayed on the uncomfortable, lumpy pull-out couch in Elizabeth’s living room, staring up at the popcorn ceiling while the radiator hissed a steady rhythm against the autumn chill. Down the hall, mother and daughter slept soundly behind a closed door.
For the first time in ten years, I slept without checking my phone every twenty minutes.
