“You were scared when you came to my baby shower?”
“Elena, please.”
“You stood beside me for photographs.
You touched my stomach.
You told my daughter you could not wait to meet her.”
“I hated myself every second.”
“But you stayed.”
She began crying.
Months earlier, her tears would have moved me.
That night they felt like another demand—that I comfort the person who had helped destroy my marriage because witnessing her shame was uncomfortable.
I did not comfort her.
“Did you agree to surrender the baby?” Marcus asked.
Jessica looked toward Catherine.
Catherine gave her a warning glance so small that another person might have missed it.
I did not.
Neither did Marcus.
“Answer me,” he said.
Jessica pressed both hands over her stomach.
“I signed because your mother said you wanted the child but could never publicly acknowledge how he was conceived.
She said Elena would eventually be told it was a private surrogacy arrangement.”
My voice became very quiet.
“She told you I would raise your baby?”
Jessica nodded.
“And you agreed to let me believe that?”
“I thought the truth would ruin all of us.”
“No.
The truth would expose you.
There is a difference.”
Catherine moved toward the folders.
“This conversation has become unproductive.”
Marcus stepped between her and the documents.
“You are not taking anything.”
“They are confidential family records.”
“They are evidence.”
Catherine’s control finally cracked.
“Evidence of what? That I prevented a drunken mistake from destroying a company you were too distracted to protect? That I ensured an innocent child would have the Sterling name, education and resources? That I cleaned up a disaster created by the three of you?”
I stood slowly, using the crib rail for support.
“My daughter and I did not create this disaster.”
Catherine looked at me.
“No, Elena.
You merely failed to understand the family you married into.”
Marcus’s face hardened.
“Leave.”
She turned to him.
“Do not be absurd.”
“Leave my home.”
“I built the life you are standing in.”
“And tonight you lost the right to control it.”
Catherine stared at her son for several seconds.
Then she put on her gloves, collected her handbag and walked toward the elevator.
At the doors, she looked back at me.
“You believe possession of those documents gives you power.
It gives you responsibility.
Think very carefully about what you release.”
“I am thinking about what I refuse to hide.”
The doors closed between us.
