Chapter 16 - NINETY DAYS
Z
The ninety-day deadline arrived on a snowy Monday morning.
Claire woke before sunrise.
Her hand rested unconsciously over her still-flat stomach.
Rebecca was already awake.
Coffee waited in the kitchen.
“So,” Rebecca said.
Claire sat.
“So.”
“Today.”
“Yes.”
“Do you want the divorce?”
Claire looked into her cup.
Three months ago, the answer had felt obvious.
She had been lonely.
Invisible.
Angry.
Tired of loving a man who seemed to notice her only when she moved toward the door.
Now?
Adrian still worked too much sometimes.
He still became controlling when frightened.
He still hated not knowing things.
But now he noticed.
He stopped himself.
He apologized.
He asked.
He listened.
He attended therapy even when the therapist told him things he clearly hated hearing.
He had reorganized Vale so power no longer concentrated entirely around him.
He had testified honestly in the fraud investigation.
He had protected St. Matthew.
And when Claire told him about the pregnancy, he had not once mentioned heirs, legacy, or the Vale name.
He asked about nausea.
Doctor appointments.
Crackers.
What she wanted.
Rebecca repeated the question.
“Do you want the divorce?”
Claire looked up.
“No.”
Rebecca smiled.
“Then why do you look terrified?”
“Because staying is scarier.”
“Why?”
“Leaving means I know what happens.”
“And staying?”
“I have to trust something new.”
Rebecca nodded.
“That’s usually how hope works.”
At nine, Claire entered the same mediation office.
Adrian was already there.
Alone.
No Thomas.
No legal team.
A folder lay before him.
He stood when she entered.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
Neither sat.
Adrian looked pale.
Claire almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
“You know what today is.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve made a decision.”
His jaw tightened.
“Okay.”
“You said you wouldn’t fight me.”
“I won’t.”
“You meant it?”
“Yes.”
Claire opened the folder.
The signed divorce agreement sat inside.
She removed it.
Adrian watched.
Then she tore it in half.
His expression did not change immediately.
As though his brain refused to process what his eyes had seen.
Claire tore it again.
“Claire?”
“I don’t want the divorce.”
Adrian sat down abruptly.
She almost laughed.
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
“That seems dramatic.”
“You just nearly killed me.”
“I tore paper.”
“I’ve had hostile lenders who caused less stress.”
Claire walked around the table.
Adrian stood again.
“I need you to understand something.”
“Anything.”
“I’m not coming back to what we had.”
“I don’t want what we had.”
“I don’t want the mansion.”
“It’s sold.”
“I keep my company.”
“Obviously.”
“My name stays on it.”
“Yes.”
“I work.”
“Yes.”
“You change diapers.”
Adrian blinked.
Claire crossed her arms.
“You heard me.”
“Yes.”
“Night feedings.”
“Yes.”
“Pediatric appointments.”
“Yes.”
“You do not delegate fatherhood to staff.”
His face softened.
“Never.”
“And if Lauren’s replacement calls during dinner?”
“Ignore it.”
“If the company is burning?”
“I may answer if the company is literally burning.”
Claire smiled.
“Reasonable.”
Adrian took one careful step toward her.
“Does this mean—”
“It means we try.”
“For how long?”
Claire looked at him.
“Not ninety days.”
His breathing changed.
She placed one hand against his chest.
“I don’t want deadlines anymore.”
“Claire.”
“But.”
His eyes closed.
“There’s a but.”
“There is always a but.”
“What?”
“We need a house.”
He opened his eyes.
“A house.”
“Not a mansion.”
“No.”
“Four bedrooms maximum.”
“That feels restrictive.”
“Adrian.”
“Four.”
“A yard.”
“Yes.”
“A kitchen we actually use.”
“I’ll hire—”
She stared.
He corrected himself.
“We will learn to use.”
“Better.”
“Anything else?”
“A messy living room.”
“I don’t know how to purchase that.”
“It happens naturally when children exist.”
His eyes dropped to her stomach.
A look crossed his face so tender it nearly broke her.
“Children?”
Claire realized what she had said.
“Maybe more than one.”
Adrian looked as though someone had handed him every missing year of his life.
He touched her cheek.
“May I kiss my wife?”
Claire smiled.
“Yes.”
This kiss was not careful.
It was not tentative.
It held three months of restraint and nine years of unfinished love.
When they separated, Adrian rested his forehead against hers.
“I love you.”
“I know.”
His eyebrow rose.
Claire laughed.
“I love you too.”
They spent the afternoon looking at houses.
Adrian rejected the first because the security was poor.
Claire rejected the second because it had seven bedrooms.
“That’s basically a mansion.”
“It is four thousand square feet.”
“Exactly.”
The third was a restored brick house on a quiet street.
Four bedrooms.
A fenced yard.
Old oak floors.
A greenhouse in the back.
Claire walked into the kitchen and stopped.
Sunlight fell across a scratched wooden table.
Not marble.
Not perfect.
Home.
Adrian appeared behind her.
“What do you think?”
Claire looked around.
“I think the refrigerator is too small.”
“We can replace it.”
“The cabinets need paint.”
“We can paint them.”
She stared at him.
“You?”
He sighed.
“We can hire someone to teach me how to paint them.”
Claire laughed.
Outside, snow fell over the small yard.
Adrian came beside her.
“This one?”
She slipped her hand into his.
“This one.”
May you like
For nine years, Claire had lived inside Adrian’s house.
Now, for the first time, they chose one together.
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