Chapter 1
Divorce papers were hidden inside my black wool coat when I walked into Hawthorne Ridge expecting to end my marriage—and heard my wife screaming upstairs. Seven months of silence had convinced me Katherine regretted our last night together, but one sentence from the midwife shattered everything I thought I knew: “She’s only twenty-nine weeks pregnant.”
During the drive north, I’d rehearsed exactly what I would say. No accusations, no explanations seven months too late, and certainly no asking whether Kate had ever loved me; men like me didn’t ask questions when we feared the answer.
I would give her the Hudson Valley house, enough money to live comfortably forever, sign whatever needed signing, and disappear. Instead, the moment I entered the foyer, another scream ripped through the house and a terrified housekeeper rushed past me carrying bloodstained towels.
“Where’s Kate?” I demanded, and she pointed upstairs. I dropped the leather case holding the divorce papers and ran, every instinct I’d sharpened over twenty years searching for an enemy I could fight.
Kate lay in the master bedroom, drenched in sweat, her brown hair stuck to her pale face as she gripped the sheets. A gray-haired woman opened a medical bag beside her while blood stained the bed beneath her.
“Who are you?” I demanded, but she barely glanced at me. “Miriam Hale, certified nurse-midwife. If you’re her husband, help me or get out of my way.”
“What's happening?” I asked, staring at Kate’s stomach as my mind finally registered the impossible truth. Miriam answered calmly, “Preterm labor. The ambulance is delayed because a tree came down on Old Mill Road.”
My throat tightened. “How far along?”
“Twenty-nine weeks.”
Everything inside me stopped.
I had left for Europe exactly seven months earlier, the morning after the only night in two years of marriage when Kate and I had finally dropped our defenses. Our marriage had been arranged between powerful families, and while Kate restored mosaics in historic buildings, I publicly ran Avery Environmental Systems—and privately carried an Avery name that made men lower their voices.
That night had started with Kate storming into my study after discovering I’d secretly assigned security to follow her. “Am I your wife or one of your assets?” she demanded, and when I told her security wasn’t negotiable, she whispered, “That’s exactly the problem.”
Hours of anger became honesty, and honesty became something neither of us could take back. For one night, I stopped treating love like a weakness someone could use against me.
Morning frightened me more than any enemy ever had.
I woke with Kate against my chest and realized I finally possessed something I couldn’t survive losing, so I rebuilt every wall. I discussed cameras, ordered security to monitor her schedule, kissed her forehead, and boarded my flight.
Two weeks later, I returned to half-empty closets. Kate had moved here, ignored every call and letter, and eventually my pride supplied the explanation: she regretted that night—and regretted me.
Now she was carrying my child.
Kate’s eyes moved past me toward the hallway, where a cream-colored legal document had slipped from my abandoned case. Her face changed instantly.
“You brought papers.”
“Kate—”
“You came here to divorce me.”
A contraction tore through her before I could answer, folding her body around the pain. Miriam shoved a basin into my hands and snapped, “Save the marriage conversation for when my patient isn’t trying to deliver an eleven-week-premature baby.”
“He’s too early,” Kate gasped.
“He?” The word escaped me before I could stop it, and tears immediately filled her eyes.
Miriam pointed toward the bed. “Coat off. Watch off. Sit behind her and support her shoulders.”
“No,” Kate whispered.
“The ambulance isn’t here, sweetheart,” Miriam told her. “I need another pair of hands.”
Men had waited for me to decide the fate of businesses, careers, even entire families, yet nothing had ever terrified me like taking those few steps toward my wife. I removed my coat, rolled my sleeves above the dark tattoos on my forearms, and sat behind her.
“What do I do?” I asked.
“You listen.”
The next contraction hit with terrifying force, and Kate grabbed my arm so hard her nails broke my skin. “I’m sorry,” she gasped.
May you like
I tightened my arms around her trembling shoulders as Miriam suddenly looked down—and the expression on her face changed.
“Don’t apologize,” I whispered.
