Chapter 2

NORA

I stood in the corridor of Mercy General, and I was soaked to the bone. My hair was plastered to my face, and every time I moved, my shoes made a heavy sound on the floor. The nurse who called me was waiting at the ICU doors. She looked at my wet clothes, then at my face, but she didn't say anything about the rain. She just opened the doors for me. Some kindness is silence.

"Miss Nora, she refused to let us call you for weeks," the nurse whispered as we walked. "She said you were carrying something heavy. She said you would come when you put it down. We were not to make you choose."

She called me Miss Nora. Not Mrs. Sinclair. The staff here had known me for four years as Helena’s girl. To them, I was the woman who showed up every week with magazines and stories, not the wife of a billionaire. I had a whole life in those hallways that Charlie never even bothered to imagine.

Inside the room, Helena looked tiny. She was smaller than I had ever seen her, almost swallowed by the white sheets. There was only one machine making a steady, rhythmic beep. The others had been turned off. I knew what that meant. I didn't need a doctor to explain it to me.

Helena opened her eyes. They were cloudy, but when they found mine, they cleared just a little. Her hand moved on the blanket, searching for mine. I grabbed it. Her grip was weak. 

"You came," she said with a dry voice, "There you are, my darling. I was so afraid I would not last long enough."

I didn't speak. I couldn't. I just took her hand the way I had for four years. I knew that grip. I knew the temperature of her skin. I knew tonight was not like the other nights. I had known this woman was dying for four years. I had sat in this corridor through three rounds of chemotherapy and two surgeries. I had learned every nurse's name and which vending machine actually gave you the coffee you paid for. I thought I had prepared for this night. I was wrong.

I had been free of Charlie Sinclair for ninety minutes. She had been waiting for me since six this morning.

"Sit down, my darling," Helena said faintly. "I have things to tell you and I will not have time to say them twice."

I pulled the plastic chair close and sat.

"Your mother," Helena began. She had to stop to take a shallow breath. "Listen to me, Nora. There are things your father never knew about your mother."

I leaned closer. The chair scraped against the floor and I did not notice it until later.

"She came from a family with a fortune," Helena whispered. "A small one. Very old. Her family owned a company... it had been in her family for four generations. I won't name it now, but you will see."

She paused, her chest heaving slightly.

"When she married your father, the inheritance was held in a trust. There was a condition. She could not speak of it to her husband for the first five years of the marriage. It was the way her mother protected her. My friend used to laugh about it. She said her mother was old-fashioned. She did not understand why the clause existed... until year two."

Helena’s grip tightened just a fraction.

"In year two, she found out. He was already involved with another woman. Already, Nora. Not after. Already. He had been with her since before the wedding. There was a child."

She stopped and watched my face. I did not say anything. I could not

"You understand what I am telling you," Helena said. It wasn't a question.

She took another breath, slower this time. "Your mother never told him about the company. The five-year clause came and went, and she kept the secret. She was planning to leave him, Nora. She was going to take you and go."

“But she didn't," I breathed.

"She got sick," Helena said, her eyes turning sharp even in her weakness. "She got sick very fast. The doctors said it was her heart. I did not believe them. I have never believed them."

The way she said it made the hair on my arms stand up. She did not name a name. She did not have to.

I sat very still. I did not move my hand.

Helena reached toward the bedside drawer with her free hand. She couldn't quite reach it, so I helped her. Inside was a single white envelope and a small velvet pouch. I opened the envelope and saw a document with a law firm’s letterhead I’d never seen before.

"Everything you need to know is in there," Helena said. "I don’t have enough time to go into details. But Nora, listen to me." Her hand tightened again, surprisingly strong. "Do not accept it until you have chosen."

"Chosen what?" I asked. They were the first words I had spoken since I walked into the room.

"Whether to forgive them. Whether to destroy them. Only you can decide. But Nora, your mother chose destroy. She just did not live long enough."

I stared at her, my breath catching in my throat.

"Open the pouch when you are alone," she added, her eyes finally beginning to close. "Not here. When you are alone."

"Helena. Please. Don't—"

"My darling," she said, and I knew those were her final words to me. "I have been so proud of you. You held your spine in a house that would have broken any other woman. Whatever you choose… forgive or destroy, choose it standing up."

Her grip didn't break; it just loosened. She didn't gasp or struggle. She just stopped gripping. The machine by the bed made a steady, long sound. I stayed there. I held her hand until it started to feel cold. 

I did not cry. I could not cry. I held her hand until it was cold.

I just sat there in the silence until the nurse finally came back in.

I stood up to give the nurse room, but the moment I was on my feet, the world started to spin. The white walls of the ICU turned into a blur. I didn't feel myself fall. 

I just knew that the floor was coming up to meet me. Then it did.

The next time I opened my eyes, I was in a different room. There was a soft pillow under my head. On either side of the bed, I saw familiar faces. Daniel and Iris Moreau.

Daniel and Iris had landed at JFK while I was unconscious. They had come straight from the airport. Daniel was still in his coat. Iris had not put down her bag. They had missed their mother by an hour. 

The nurse had called them when Helena's breathing changed, and they had been in the air, and they had not made it.

Daniel was in his late thirties, looking exhausted. He was still wearing a heavy coat that smelled like he had just stepped off a plane.

Iris was sitting on the other side, her eyes red and puffy, a balled-up tissue in her hand.

 They were Helena's children. They had been my family for years. I had spoken to Daniel on the phone every two weeks for four years. I had not spoken to my father in ten years.

"You are awake. Thank God," Iris said, her voice trembling. "The doctor said you fainted. Nora, when did you last sleep?"

"I'm fine," I said, though my head felt like it was filled with lead.

"Thank you," Iris said, her voice finally breaking. "Thank you for being there. I am so sorry we were not—"

"She did not want both of you uprooting your lives in London," I cut her off gently. "She wanted you to live. She told me that every time you offered to come home. She said her job was to make sure you both kept going. Mine was different."

My job was to stay. My job was to be the one she could reach when her own children were across the ocean. It was the only purpose the Sinclairs couldn't take from me.

"She talked about you every week, Nora," Daniel said quietly. "Every single Sunday. She used to call you her third child. She made us promise that if anything happened, we were to find you. We were not to let you disappear into that house."

The way he said ‘that house’ told me they knew everything. 

"You are not alone, Nora," Iris said, squeezing my hand. "Mum made us swear it. You will never be alone."

There was a knock at the door. A doctor walked in, looking calm.

"Ms. Vance. May I speak with you privately?"

Iris and Daniel stood up. Iris gave my hand one last squeeze. "We will be in the corridor. Whenever you are ready, we are taking you home with us tonight. Mum’s apartment is yours for as long as you need it."

They left, and the doctor sat in the chair they vacated.

"Ms. Vance," he said. "When was the last time you ate today?"

"I don't... I don't remember," I said.

He nodded.

"When was your last menstrual period?"

I paused. I tried to do the math, but my brain was moving so slowly. "I'm not sure. Things have been... hectic."

The doctor nodded. "We ran a routine panel when you fainted. Blood work. I need to ask you some questions, and I need to give you some information."

"Just tell me," I said, bracing myself for more bad news.

"Ms. Vance. You are right weeks pregnant."

Eight weeks ago, there was a storm. Eight weeks ago, there was a staircase. Eight weeks ago, a man who had not looked at me in three years put his hand on my face and made a sound that was not anger. 

Eight weeks ago, his phone rang at six the next morning, and he walked out of the bedroom without looking at me, and that afternoon the staff began preparing the east wing for my sister.

I was sitting in a hospital gown in a room where the only woman who ever loved me had just died, holding a velvet pouch I had been told not to open, with a doctor's hand on my arm and the word ‘eight’ ringing in my ears.

I did not say anything for a long time. Then I whispered to myself, "He is never going to know.”