Hours later, when I was awake and the room had finally gone quiet, I agreed to let Daniel come in for five minutes.
Rachel moved toward the door.
“You want me to stay?”
“Yes.”
Daniel entered slowly.
I had never seen him look like that.
His shirt was damp from the rain.
His hair was disordered.
His face looked older than it had that morning.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
His eyes moved to the empty bassinets that had been prepared in the room before the babies were taken for monitoring.
Then he looked at me.
“Are they really okay?”
“They’re stable.”
His mouth trembled.
“Thank God.”
He took one step toward my bed.
Rachel straightened in her chair.
Daniel stopped.
“Claire…”
I waited.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s new.”
He flinched.
I had imagined this confrontation for three weeks.
In some versions, I screamed.
In others, I threw every photograph at him and forced him to read his own messages aloud.
But lying in that hospital bed, exhausted after giving birth to two premature babies, I had no energy left for theater.
“Did you get the papers?” I asked.
Daniel looked down.
“Yes.”
“Then you know what happens next.”
“Claire, please don’t make decisions tonight.”
I stared at him.
“I made the decision three weeks ago.
You just received it today.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
“I ended things with Vanessa.”
“No.”
His brow tightened.
“What?”
“You told her to leave your office after you learned I was leaving you.
That’s not the same thing as choosing me.”
Daniel’s face crumpled.
“I know I destroyed this.”
“You did.”
“But our family—”
“Our children are your family,” I said.
“I will never use Liam and Sophie to punish you.
But being their father does not make you my husband forever.”
Rachel looked away, giving us whatever privacy a small hospital room could offer.
Daniel sat in the chair near the wall.
“I thought I had time to fix everything.”
“You thought you could keep everything.”
He looked at me then.
That was the truth neither of us had said before.
