CHAPTER 18 - “THE VISITORS”

I barely slept that night. Sleep came in thin, brittle fragments — broken by flashes of memory, by nightmares of hands grabbing me, by whispers of Calloway’s voice echoing in my head.

By morning, I felt hollow.

A nurse brought me breakfast I couldn’t eat. Fruit, bread, tea. It all sat untouched. My mouth tasted like metal.

Around noon, the door opened.

I expected another nurse.

Maybe Ryan again.

But instead —

“Mom?”

Sophia.

My daughter.

My heart seized.

She walked toward me, holding a bouquet of pale lilies. She looked… worried. And older than she should at her age.

Behind her was Margaret — Ryan’s mother — upright, elegant, her grey hair pinned neatly. Her gaze was sharp as polished glass.

Sophia set the flowers down gently beside me.

“Oh my God, Mom… when Ryan told me you were in the hospital…” she exhaled shakily. “I didn’t fully understand my own thoughts — I only knew I needed to be here with you.”

My throat tightened.

Sophia.

My child.

The woman married to the man I should never have touched.

I forced a smile.

“I’m okay, sweetheart. Just… shaken.”

She squeezed my hand.

“I’m so relieved you’re alright.”

But I felt Margaret’s eyes on me.

Not warm.

Not soft.

Examining.

Measuring.

She approached slowly and spoke in a low, composed voice.

“The police report… that must have been terrifying, Claire.”

I nodded stiffly. “It was.”

Margaret gave one of those sympathetic looks that don’t quite reach the eyes.

Sophia, oblivious to tension, fussed with the blankets and smoothed my hair back.

“Do you need anything? Water? Food? I can get—”

“I’m fine,” I interrupted gently. “Really.”

Sophia’s brow furrowed. “You look pale.”

I avoided her eyes.

She continued softly, “Ryan said you collapsed in front of him. He found you unconscious.”

I froze.

I didn’t know Ryan had told her that.

Sophia studied me.

“Why were you calling Ryan, anyway? I didn’t know you two were… close friends.”

The air thickened instantly.

Margaret’s gaze sharpened.

I steadied my voice.

“He was simply… someone I believed I could reach out to.”He responds quickly. I panicked — and he came.”

Sophia nodded slowly, but something uneasy flickered across her expression. A whisper of doubt.

Margaret said nothing.

Not yet.

A nurse entered to check my vitals.

Sophia stepped aside.

Margaret moved back.

The nurse clipped the oxygen monitor to my finger and checked the chart.

Then she said — casually, but loudly enough:

“Given your pregnancy, Ms. Lawson, we’ll need to schedule—”

Sophia’s head snapped around.

“What?”

Her voice was sharp.

She looked at me — eyes wide, stunned.

“Mom… you’re… pregnant?”

I swallowed.

My heart hammered.

“Yes,” I said quietly.

She stared at me.

“But… how? Since when? I didn’t even know you were seeing someone.”

Margaret watched me with a still, knowing silence.

She didn’t look shocked.

She looked… certain.

I forced a steady tone.

“It’s from my ex-husband. We were… briefly involved before I left him for good.”

Sophia blinked.

“Oh.”

She sank into the chair beside me.

“That’s… a lot to take in.”

I nodded.

“It was never planned.”

Margaret stepped closer, placing a hand delicately on my shoulder.

“Six weeks?”

Her voice was calm.

Too calm.

I froze.

“How did you—?”

She smiled thinly.

“Doctors estimate. Six, maybe seven, yes?”

I nodded slowly.

Sophia murmured absently:

“That means you must have been with your ex earlier this summer.”

Margaret didn’t take her eyes off me.

She said, softly:

“Yes. Earlier this summer.”

She knew.

She absolutely knew.

Her expression held no accusation — only clarity.

And a silent warning:

I know the baby is not from your ex-husband.

I looked away.

Ryan enters a few minutes later the door opened and Ryan stepped in.

Sophia immediately stood and embraced him.

“You didn’t tell me she was pregnant.”

Ryan stiffened.

“I thought that was Claire’s choice to share, not mine.”

Margaret watched him as though examining a chess piece.

And I saw it then.

She hadn’t just suspected.

She knew.

She’d known from the moment she heard the word pregnant.

Ryan glanced at me, just once — a flicker of emotion. Not joy. Not fear.

Something deeper.

Something binding.

Sophia kept speaking.

“This is… such a surprise. I can’t believe Mom is going to have another baby.”

Ryan’s jaw tightened slightly — just enough for Margaret to notice.

Her voice followed:

“Yes. What an unexpected development.”

I felt sweat along my spine.

Margaret continued with icy politeness:

“And what a coincidence… that the timing aligns perfectly with when Ryan and Claire began spending such… extended periods of time together.”

Sophia stiffened. “What? Mom and Ryan barely talk.”

Margaret’s reply was gentle — too gentle.

“Are you sure?”

Sophia turned to me, confused.

“Mom?”

I spoke quickly — too quickly:

“Ryan was just helping me with financial documents a while back. I asked him for advice once or twice. It’s all innocent.”

Margaret’s eyebrow arched slightly — an elegant gesture of disbelief.

Ryan spoke then — carefully:

“My relationship with Claire has been out of concern — she was going through a rough time.”

Sophia looked between us.

A crease formed between her brows.

She wasn’t convinced.

She wanted to believe us.

But she wasn’t convinced.

Around 4pm, the doctor came in.

“Well, Ms. Lawson — physically, you’re fit for discharge. I’ll prescribe mild anxiolytics for anxiety and something to help you sleep. Avoid exertion. And for now — rest.”

He left paperwork.

Sophia smiled.

“That’s good news, Mom! You’ll be able to recover at home.”

But Margaret asked — almost casually:

“And where will home be?”

I blinked.

“What do you mean?”

Margaret gave a pointed look between Ryan and me.

“Claire will need support. A stable environment.”

Sophia said, “She can stay with us if she wants— Ryan and I have the guest bedroom.”

My blood ran cold.

Ryan froze.

And Margaret watched me — expression unreadable.

I shook my head quickly.

“No — no, I can’t impose. I’ll go to my place. That’s fine.”

Sophia frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Ryan said nothing.

Not a word.

But his silence screamed.

I was wheeled to the exit while Sophia carried my bag.

The hospital corridors seemed endless — white walls, polished floors, the soft squeak of wheels beneath the chair.

As we reached the main doors, Margaret leaned down and whispered in my ear — so low Sophia wouldn’t hear:

“You will not be able to hide this forever. And when the truth comes out… I suggest you be prepared.”

My breath caught.

I couldn’t respond.

Then she straightened, smiled pleasantly, and said aloud:

“Get some rest, dear.”

Sophia hugged me tightly.

“Call me if you need anything, okay? I’m right here.”

I nodded.

They walked toward the parking area.

Ryan lingered.

For one moment it was just us.

He looked at me — eyes heavy with unspoken words.

“I’m taking you home.”

I didn’t argue.

The engine hummed softly.

The city drifted past in blurred motion outside the window.

Ryan finally spoke:

“My mother knows.”

I exhaled slowly. “I know.”

“She’s not going to stay quiet about it.”

I stared at my hands.

“I don’t expect her to.”

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“She’ll try to protect Sophia.”

“I know.”

“And she’ll eventually force me to choose.”

I turned.

Our eyes met.

“You already chose when you married Sophia.”

His voice was raw.

“And I keep choosing you.”

My throat tightened.

“Ryan—”

“No,” he cut in. “You don’t get to pretend this is some passing mistake. You don’t get to pretend I don’t care. You don’t get to pretend that child isn’t mine.”

I stayed silent.

He continued:

“You can lie to them. You can lie to yourself. But you can’t lie to me.”

My voice cracked.

“I’m trying to survive, Ryan.”

He looked at me then — really looked.

And his voice softened.

“I know.”

When he pulled up at my apartment, he helped me inside.

Not because I was weak.

But because he wasn’t ready to let go.

The apartment felt too quiet.

I turned to him at the doorway.

“I’ll be fine.”

He nodded.

Then he touched my cheek — a slow, tender brush of his thumb.

“Call me if you need anything.”

I whispered back:

“I already did.”

And this time…

I closed the door.

And locked it.

And immediately slid down to the floor — trembling — because I knew this wasn’t over.

Not remotely.

Not even close.