mother and Elise have already written statements about her emotional decline.’
Claire’s sister-in-law Elise. Sweet Elise, who brought casseroles and asked too many questions about Claire’s sleep.
Nora’s face crumpled. ‘You told me this was about us.’
‘It is about us.’
‘No. It is about the inn.’
Adrian turned. His patience thinned. ‘The inn should have been sold years ago. Claire clings to dead women’s furniture and expects me to ask permission to breathe in my own home.’
‘It is not your home,’ Nora said.
Adrian’s eyes hardened.
For the first time, Claire almost pitied her.
Almost.
‘It will be managed by me once there is a child,’ Adrian said. ‘Her grandmother’s trust gives control to the surviving parent or guardian if Claire is incapacitated or found unfit. You carry a documented Whitaker heir under Claire’s consent. Claire carries a high-risk miracle no one has to believe she is stable enough to raise. Either way, I win.’
Nora looked sick. ‘You said you loved me.’
Adrian sighed. ‘Do not become ordinary, Nora. It does not flatter you.’
Claire pushed the door open.
The office froze.
Adrian recovered first. He always did.
‘Claire,’ he said warmly. ‘You are home early.’
Nora stood so quickly the water glass toppled, spilling across the desk. Water crept toward a stack of folders. Adrian grabbed them with a flash of real panic.
Claire noticed.
‘Get out of my chair,’ she said.
Nora moved aside.
Adrian stepped forward, palms open. ‘You look pale. Did the appointment upset you?’
‘It clarified things.’
His eyes dropped to her purse.
There it was again, the small crack. Fear.
‘What did Dr. Holt say?’ he asked.
Claire removed her phone from her purse and placed it on the desk.
The red recording light faced him.
Nora made a small sound.
Adrian did not move. His expression emptied first, then reassembled itself into concern.
‘Claire,’ he said gently, ‘recording private conversations in distress is not wise.’
‘Neither is forging my signature.’
Nora covered her mouth.
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
‘I have no idea what you think you found.’
Claire took out the consent form and laid it beside the phone. The fake signature looked obscene on her grandmother’s desk.
‘You chose the wrong woman,’ she said. ‘Not because you betrayed me. Men like you always think betrayal is the clever part. You chose wrong because you thought wanting a child made me weak.’
Adrian leaned closer. His voice dropped. ‘You are tired. You are hormonal. Let me call Mother.’
‘Please do.’
That stopped him.
Footsteps sounded in the hall before he could answer.
Vivian Whitaker appeared at the office entrance in pearls and a cream coat, holding a leather envelope. Behind her stood Elise, Adrian’s sister, damp from the rain and pale as candle wax.
In Elise’s arms was a newborn wrapped in a blue blanket.
Claire stared at the baby.
Dark hair. Sharp little chin. A crease between the brows that looked horribly familiar.
Adrian went white.
Vivian looked from Nora’s stomach to Claire’s, then to the infant.
‘Oh, Adrian,’ she said coldly. ‘You told me there was only one.’
The room altered around that sentence.
Claire understood then that she had uncovered one layer of a much older rot.
Nora whispered, ‘One what?’
Elise began to cry. Not loudly. Not
