Chapter 3
Thomas glanced toward him.
“There are networks.”
“I know.”
“For abused women.”
Victor’s head turned sharply.
Thomas did not retreat.
“I’m telling you what exists.”
“I never hit her.”
Thomas’s expression remained careful.
“I didn’t say you did.”
Victor looked back at the screen.
Nora closed the rear passenger door.
The Volvo drove away.
For the first time, he saw the situation through a frame he did not control.
His wife had believed she needed an organized network to escape him.
His first reaction should have been shame.
Instead, rage came faster.
“Get the cars.”
Thomas watched him.
“Victor.”
“Now.”
St. Jude’s smelled like bleach, coffee, and wet winter coats.
Four men followed Victor through the lobby.
Nurses looked up.
Hospital security noticed immediately.
Victor ignored everyone and checked the directory.
Behavioral Health.
Fourth floor.
Dr. Claire Gable.
Room 412.
He had never met Nora’s therapist.
That bothered him now.
He had paid the medical bills.
He had arranged transportation.
He had approved the private entrance so nobody could photograph Nora during postpartum appointments.
He had called all of that involvement.
He could not remember ever asking what happened inside the sessions.
Claire Gable was in her late fifties, steel-gray hair cropped close, wire-rim glasses, navy cardigan.
When Victor entered without knocking, she finished writing a sentence before looking up.
“You must be Victor.”
No fear.
That irritated him instantly.
“Where is my wife?”
Claire capped her pen.
“I don’t discuss patients.”
Victor closed the door.
“My wife left this building’s network in the middle of the night with my children.”
“If that is what happened, she made that decision for a reason.”
“Give me the name of the woman who drove.”
“No.”
Victor stepped closer.
Claire remained seated.
“Doctor, you need to understand who you’re talking to.”
“I do.”
Her calm surprised him.
“That is exactly why I’m not giving you information.”
Victor planted both hands on her desk.
“My twins were premature.”
“I know.”
“They need medication.”
“I know.”
“They’re in a blizzard.”
“I know.”
“Then help me find them.”
Claire studied him.
“You still think this is about you finding them.”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means Nora spent months learning how to leave safely because she believed telling you she wanted to leave would trigger exactly what you are doing right now.”
His voice dropped.
“She could have asked.”
Claire stared at him.
“She did.”
That landed.
Victor straightened.
“She asked you to come home.”
Another.
“She asked you to stop bringing your mistress into spaces connected to your marriage.”
Another.
“She asked you to be present with your children.”
Another.
“She asked for control over her own security detail.”
Another.
“She asked you not to have your men report her movements back to you.”
Victor’s face changed.
Claire continued.
“You heard every request as criticism of how well you provided.”
“I gave her everything.”
“There.”
Claire leaned forward.
“That sentence.”
Victor stared.
“Penthouse.”
Another.
“Money.”
Another.
“Guards.”
Another.
“Drivers.”
Another.
“But every one of those things was controlled by you.”
“I protected her.”
“You monitored her.”
“My enemies—”
“Were yours.”
Claire’s voice stayed quiet.
“Nora was living inside the consequences of a world she did not build.”
Victor stepped away.
The office suddenly felt too small.
Claire watched him pace.
“She had postpartum depression?”
“Yes.”
“And anxiety.”
“Yes.”
“She never told me it was that serious.”
“She told you she wasn’t sleeping.”
“The babies weren’t sleeping.”
“She told you she was afraid to take them downstairs without security because three months earlier one of your competitors photographed her outside the hospital.”
Victor went still.
“She told you she felt like every hallway had eyes.”
“That was protection.”
“She experienced it as surveillance.”
Claire let the words sit.
“And then you began staying away at night.”
Victor’s mouth hardened.
“Sylvia has nothing to do with the twins.”
Claire almost looked sad.
“You really believed that.”
Victor looked toward the window.
“It was uncomplicated.”
“Yes.”
“Nora cried constantly.”
“She had two premature infants, a body still recovering from surgery, chronic sleep deprivation, and a husband who treated the sound of her distress as something to escape.”
His eyes snapped back.
Claire did not soften.
“You didn’t need to hit Nora to make her disappear inside her own life.”
Silence.
“You slowly taught her that every emotional need she expressed made her more inconvenient.”
Victor’s throat felt tight.
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“I believe you.”
That was worse.
Claire opened a drawer and took out a cheap prepaid phone.
“This is the only thing I can give you.”
Victor stared.
“A network contact?”
“A number I used once.”
“You organized this.”
“I evaluated risk.”
“And decided I was dangerous.”
“I decided Nora was deteriorating.”
Claire slid the phone across.
“You can trace that if you want. I’m sure you have people who can.”
Victor picked it up.
Claire stopped him before he reached the door.
“If you find her, remember something.”
He turned.
“She does not owe you a return trip simply because you were frightened when she disappeared.”
Victor’s expression hardened.
“My children are out there.”
“Yes.”
“Leo and Mia are my blood.”
“Yes.”
“I have a right—”
Claire interrupted.
“You have responsibilities.”
The word stopped him.
May you like
“Rights and responsibilities are not the same thing.”
Victor left without answering.
