Chapter 8 - The Surgery No Father Should PerformGrace had a ventricular septal defect complicated by pulmonary hypertension.
Grace was not.
That nearly broke Claire.
The doctors assured her it was normal for twins to go home on different days.
Oliver had reached four pounds, twelve ounces.
He maintained his temperature.
He took bottles reliably.
Grace still experienced occasional apnea and needed supplemental oxygen.
Claire felt as though she was abandoning one child to take another home.
Adrian understood without being told.
“We’ll rotate,” he said.
“What?”
“One of us stays with Oliver. One stays here with Grace.”
Claire stared.
“You have surgeries.”
“I reduced my schedule.”
“You run a company.”
“I delegated.”
“Adrian.”
“What?”
“You can’t abandon your entire life.”
He looked toward Grace.
“I’m not.”
That answer stayed with Claire.
Where would Oliver go?
Claire’s apartment was small but ready.
Two cribs stood in the bedroom.
A twin bassinet occupied the living room.
Diapers were stacked everywhere.
Adrian had visited once with Samuel to inspect security.
He had looked around for exactly thirty seconds before saying, “No.”
Claire almost threw him out.
“My apartment is perfectly safe.”
“It has an exterior fire escape accessible from the alley.”
“It’s Chicago. Half the buildings have fire escapes.”
“Your front entrance lock can be defeated with a library card.”
“It cannot.”
Samuel quietly said, “It can.”
Claire glared at him.
Traitor.
Adrian offered a penthouse.
Claire refused.
A private hotel floor.
Refused.
A rental house with security.
Refused.
Finally he said, “There’s one other option.”
The lake house.
Claire went still.
“No.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
His immediate surrender surprised her.
“What?”
“You said no.”
“You’re not going to argue?”
“I’m learning.”
She hated how attractive personal growth looked on him.
The lake house stood forty minutes north of Chicago.
Adrian had bought it six years earlier.
For them.
Claire had chosen the kitchen cabinets.
They had argued about whether the guest room should be blue or green.
Adrian had proposed on the dock beneath a meteor shower.
It was also the last place they had been happy.
“I haven’t been there since you left,” he said.
Claire’s chest tightened.
“Why keep it?”
“I couldn’t sell it.”
“Why?”
He looked at her as though the answer were obvious.
She looked away.
In the end, Claire chose the lake house.
Not because of Adrian.
She told herself that repeatedly.
Because it had private gates.
A security system.
Plenty of room.
And it was close enough to St. Catherine for daily visits.
Oliver went home there on a snowy Thursday afternoon.
Claire carried him through the front door.
Then stopped.
Nothing had changed.
The same farmhouse table.
The same navy sofa.
The framed photograph from a trip to Maine had disappeared, but the nail remained.
The kitchen still had the ridiculous brass faucet Claire insisted on.
Adrian stood behind her holding diaper bags.
“You really didn’t change anything.”
“No.”
“Five years.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
He set the bags down.
“Because changing it felt like admitting you were never coming back.”
Claire’s heart twisted.
“Adrian…”
“You asked.”
“You’re making this difficult.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“That’s the problem.”
His expression softened.
Oliver made a tiny sound.
Claire immediately looked down.
Adrian smiled.
“Saved by the baby.”
“Your son has excellent timing.”
“Our son.”
Claire met his eyes.
Something passed between them.
She turned away first.
Life at the lake house developed a rhythm.
Claire slept in the master bedroom with Oliver.
Adrian took the guest room.
A night nurse came for six hours so both parents could rest.
Adrian visited Grace every morning before work.
Claire went every afternoon.
They traded updates through texts.
Grace took 38 mL.
Oliver burped on my shirt. I believe this was intentional.
Your shirt probably cost more than my car. He’s redistributing wealth.
He is a revolutionary.
Claire laughed more than she meant to.
One evening she returned from the hospital and found Adrian asleep on the sofa.
Oliver lay against his chest.
Both had their mouths slightly open.
Claire stopped in the doorway.
She had once imagined this.
Not exactly.
In the version from five years earlier, they were married.
Maybe there was a golden retriever.
Adrian was not a billionaire CEO balancing board meetings with nighttime feedings.
Claire was not carrying scars from emergency surgery.
But the feeling was the same.
Home.
It terrified her.
She took a photograph before she could stop herself.
Adrian opened one eye.
“Caught you.”
Claire lowered her phone.
“I was documenting evidence.”
“Of?”
“You drooling.”
“I don’t drool.”
Oliver made a bubbling noise.
Adrian looked down.
“That was him.”
“Sure.”
He smiled.
Claire smiled back.
Too long.
The room shifted.
Adrian sat up carefully without waking Oliver.
“Claire.”
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“What was I about to say?”
“Something emotionally responsible and infuriating.”
He laughed quietly.
“I was going to ask if you’d eaten.”
“Oh.”
“Have you?”
“No.”
“I made pasta.”
“You cook?”
“I operated on your internal organs. Surely boiling water isn’t unbelievable.”
“You had six people assisting you.”
“Fair.”
Dinner was peaceful.
Too peaceful.
After Oliver went down, Claire found Adrian standing by the kitchen window.
Snow fell across the lake.
“Do you remember the meteor shower?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I had the ring in my pocket for three weeks.”
Claire smiled despite herself.
“You were terrified.”
“I was performing twelve-hour surgeries with less anxiety.”
“I almost said no.”
His head turned.
“What?”
She laughed.
“Because you dropped the ring.”
“It was dark.”
“You got down on one knee, opened the box, and the ring rolled between the dock boards.”
“I remember.”
“You looked like you were going to pass out.”
“I thought I had dropped four generations of diamonds into Lake Michigan.”
Claire’s smile faded slightly.
“I loved that ring.”
“I still have it.”
She stopped.
Adrian did too.
Silence.
“You kept it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I never stopped being engaged to you in my head.”
Claire’s throat tightened.
“Don’t say things like that.”
“They’re true.”
“That doesn’t make them fair.”
“You’re right.”
He looked away.
“I’m sorry.”
Claire stared at him.
“I don’t know what to do with you.”
“You don’t have to do anything.”
“You’re everywhere.”
“I live here too.”
“You know what I mean.”
He did.
Adrian turned fully toward her.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me because I changed diapers.”
“Good.”
“I’m not asking you to forget five years.”
“Good.”
“I’m not even asking you to trust me yet.”
Claire’s voice softened.
“What are you asking?”
“Nothing.”
That frightened her most.
“I spent five years thinking love meant I had to convince you to stay,” Adrian said. “Then I spent five years realizing that if I had trusted you, I never would have lost you.”
Claire blinked back tears.
“So this time, I’m not asking.”
He stepped away.
“I’m showing you who I am. You decide what that means.”
He walked upstairs.
Claire remained in the kitchen.
Her heart felt dangerously exposed.
Then her phone rang.
St. Catherine.
Claire answered immediately.
“Hello?”
A neonatologist spoke.
Grace had suffered another serious apnea episode.
She was stable.
But new imaging had revealed something unexpected.
A congenital heart defect.
Claire gripped the counter.
“What kind?”
The doctor explained.
Claire understood only enough to know one thing.
Grace might need surgery.
May you like
And the best pediatric cardiac surgeon in the country was standing upstairs.
Her father.
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