Chapter 3 - The First Visit
I did not answer Graham for forty-three minutes.
Not because I was playing a game.
Because I couldn't decide whether saying yes was generous, foolish, or simply necessary.
Owen slept through most of my indecision.
My father did not.
"Tell him no," Dad said from the chair by the window.
"You don't get a vote."
"He left you while you were bleeding."
"I'm aware."
"He abandoned his son."
"Also aware."
Dad stood and began pacing. He always paced when he wanted to control a conversation without sounding controlling.
"Claire, you don't owe him access just because his grandfather frightened him."
"I know."
"Then why are we discussing this?"
I looked at him.
"Because Owen is not a reward I hand out to men who behave well. He's also not a punishment I take away when they behave badly."
Dad stopped pacing.
Elias, who had been pretending to read emails near the door, lowered his phone.
"That's the smartest thing anyone in this family has said in years," he murmured.
"Please don't make me regret letting you stay."
"Understood."
I texted Graham.
You can come at seven. Alone. Ten minutes. If I ask you to leave, you leave.
His reply came almost immediately.
Okay.
At 6:58, someone knocked.
Graham had never knocked on a hospital door in his life. He usually entered rooms as if people had been waiting for him.
This time, he stood in the doorway with one hand still raised.
He looked terrible.
His white shirt was wrinkled. He had no tie. There was a shadow of stubble along his jaw, and his eyes flicked toward the IV before moving to the bassinet.
"Hi," he said.
I almost laughed at how absurdly ordinary it sounded.
"Come in."
Elias stood.
"I'm leaving."
Graham looked at him.
"Grandfather-"
"This is not my conversation."
Dad did not move.
I looked at him.
"Yours either."
"Claire."
"Ten minutes."
He glared at Graham, kissed my forehead, and followed Elias into the hall.
The door closed.
For the first time since our wedding night, Graham and I were alone without a dinner reservation, driver, housekeeper, employee, or relative within reach.
He stared at Owen.
"He's smaller than I expected."
"He was seven pounds, one ounce. That's not especially small."
"I don't know what newborns are supposed to look like."
"No. I guess you don't."
He flinched.
Good, a mean part of me thought.
Then I hated that part.
Graham stepped closer to the bassinet but kept his hands at his sides.
"Can I see him?"
"You can see him from where you're standing."
His jaw tightened.
"Claire."
I looked away.
That was my first mistake.
Not letting him hold Owen. Letting bitterness answer before I had decided what I actually wanted.
I took a breath.
"Wash your hands."
He did.
When he returned, I lifted Owen slowly and held him out.
Graham froze.
"Support his head," I said.
"I know that."
"Do you?"
He gave me a look.
"You don't have to make this harder."
"You're right. I don't."
He blinked, clearly expecting a fight.
I adjusted his arm.
"Here. Put your hand under his neck."
Graham took our son.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then Owen opened his eyes.
Graham stopped breathing.
I watched his face change in a way I had never seen before. Not love. Not instantly. I didn't believe in that kind of convenient transformation.
It was recognition.
The frightening awareness that this warm, blinking person existed whether Graham wanted him to or not.
"His eyes are gray," he said.
"Most newborn eyes change."
"Mine were gray."
"So were mine."
"Right."
Owen's mouth opened in a tiny yawn.
Graham's thumb moved once against the blanket.
"Why Mercer?"
There it was.
I leaned back carefully.
"Because I named him."
"He's my son too."
"You told me to take him out of the country."
"I know what I said."
"Do you? Because it happened yesterday, and your attorney was here this morning with papers giving me full custody and no visitation."
"I thought it would be cleaner."
"For whom?"
He looked down at Owen.
"I don't know."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only honest one I have right now."
That surprised me more than an apology would have.
Graham sat in the chair near the bed.
"Vanessa and I spent three years believing that if you and I divorced, we could go back to where we were."
"You mean before you married me."
"Yes."
"I wasn't the person who stopped you from being together, Graham."
His mouth tightened.
"I know that intellectually."
"How generous."
"I'm trying not to lie to you."
"Try harder."
Owen made a soft complaining noise.
Graham shifted awkwardly.
"What does that mean?"
"Probably gas."
"Probably?"
"He didn't come with a manual."
For one ridiculous second, we looked at each other like two people who had accidentally been handed a dangerous machine.
Then Owen burped.
A little milk dribbled onto Graham's shirt.
I laughed.
I couldn't help it.
Graham stared at the wet spot.
Then, to my astonishment, he laughed too.
It lasted maybe two seconds.
The room felt different afterward.
Not healed.
Just human.
His phone lit up on the bedside table where he'd set it.
VANESSA.
The screen went dark.
It lit again.
He ignored it.
"Does she know you're here?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Did she want you to come?"
"No."
I nodded.
"Then you should probably answer her."
"I have two minutes left."
I looked at the clock.
He was right.
That irritated me for reasons I couldn't explain.
At exactly 7:10, Graham stood and handed Owen back to me.
He paused before letting go.
"I don't know how to do this."
"Do what?"
"Be his father."
The honest answer would have been cruel.
You start by not abandoning him.
I swallowed it.
"Then learn."
Graham nodded.
At the door he stopped.
"I'm sorry you almost died."
"That's a strange sentence."
"I know."
"Are you sorry you weren't here?"
He looked at me for a long moment.
"I don't know what I am yet."
Then he left.
The next morning Daniel returned with revised instructions from Graham.
"He wants the settlement paused," he said.
My stomach dropped.
"Why?"
Daniel slid the folder onto the table but did not open it.
May you like
"Because he no longer wants the agreement to say he has no visitation."
