Chapter 4: The visitor

CHAPTER 4: The Visitor

Three days after the family dinner, Claire sat beside her father's hospital bed and held his hand. The machines beeped steadily around them. The room smelled like antiseptic and the roses she brought every Tuesday.

Her father lay motionless as always. His face was thinner than the last time she visited, the bones of his cheeks more visible. The ventilator breathed for him in a slow, mechanical rhythm.

"Dad," Claire whispered, squeezing his fingers. "I'm in trouble."

No response. There never was. But talking to him made the weight in her chest lighter, even by a fraction.

"Victor isn't who I thought he was. None of this is what I thought." She pressed her father's hand against her cheek. "You always told me to trust my instincts. You said I had a gift and I should never let anyone take it from me. But I gave it away, Dad. I handed him everything."

The monitor beeped. Steady and unchanged.

"I called Professor Benjamin," Claire continued. "He set up a meeting with a firm called Valour Design. They want someone to lead their sustainable architecture division. The salary is good, Dad. Really good. If I get the job, I can pay your bills myself."

She wiped her eyes with the back of her free hand. "I won't let you die because of him. I promise."

Claire stayed for an hour, reading to her father from his favorite book of poems, adjusting his blankets, checking his charts. When the nurse came in for the afternoon rounds, Claire kissed her father's forehead and gathered her things.

In the corridor outside, she pulled out her phone. Two missed calls from Sandra and a text: [How did the meeting go? Call me.]

Claire had met with Valour Design that morning. The interview lasted two hours. They showed her the project brief, a forty-story mixed-use tower with sustainability requirements that most architects would find impossible. Claire sketched three solutions on the whiteboard in under fifteen minutes. The room went silent. The lead partner stared at her designs with his mouth slightly open.

"Where have you been hiding?" he asked.

Claire smiled for the first time in days. "I took a break."

"That's not a break. That's a crime against architecture."

They offered her the position on the spot. Senior Design Lead. Starting salary of twenty thousand a month with full benefits. She asked for a week to think about it, but they both knew she would say yes.

Claire typed a reply to Sandra: [Got the job. Tell you everything tonight.]

She pocketed her phone and walked toward the elevator, feeling lighter than she had in three years. This was step one. Get money. Step two would be a lawyer. Step three would be freedom.

The elevator doors opened. Claire stepped in and pressed the ground floor button. Just before the doors closed, a hand shot through the gap.

Felicia walked into the elevator.

Claire recognized her instantly. The long black hair, the sharp cheekbones, the full lips painted dark red. She looked exactly like the photos on Victor's second phone, except in person she was taller and her eyes held a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

Felicia wore a cream-colored blouse and pressed slacks, her hand resting gently on her lower stomach. Her nails were painted the same red as her lips. On her wrist sat a gold Cartier bracelet that Claire remembered seeing on a receipt in Victor's secret phone.

For a terrible second, they stood in silence. The elevator hummed between floors.

Then Felicia smiled. Wide and warm, as if she and Claire were old friends meeting by chance.

"Oh!" Felicia's eyes widened with practiced surprise. "You must be Mrs. Claire! Victor's wife!" She extended her hand eagerly. "I'm Felicia. I just started consulting at your husband's firm. He talks about you constantly."

Claire looked at the outstretched hand. Long fingers. Red nails. The same hand that Victor held in three hundred photos. The same hand that...

"Nice to meet you," Claire said. Her voice came out steady. She did not take the offered hand.

Felicia lowered her arm without losing her smile. "I hope this isn't awkward. I know Victor is very protective of his personal and professional lives staying separate." She laughed softly. "But I feel like I already know you from how much he gushes. 'Claire this, Claire that.' You're a lucky woman."

Every word was a needle. Precise and deliberate.

"What brings you to the hospital?" Claire asked. Her eyes dropped to Felicia's hand resting on her stomach.

Felicia followed Claire's gaze and then looked up again. Her smile changed. Became softer. Almost pitying.

"Just a checkup," Felicia said lightly. "Nothing serious." She paused, tilting her head. "And you? Visiting someone?"

"My father."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Is he alright?"

"He's in a coma."

"That must be so hard." Felicia's voice dripped sympathy. "Victor mentioned your father's situation once. How lucky you are to have a husband who supports you through something like that. Not every man would take on that kind of financial burden for his wife's family."

The elevator reached the ground floor. The doors slid open. Claire stepped out first, her heels clicking against the marble lobby floor.

"Mrs. Claire?" Felicia called from behind her.

Claire stopped but did not turn around.

"We should have lunch sometime. I'd love to get to know you better. After all, your husband and I spend so much time together at the office." A small laugh. "It would be nice to put a face to all the wonderful stories."

Claire turned her head just enough to see Felicia over her shoulder. The woman stood in the elevator doorway, one hand still on her stomach, that red-lipped smile fixed in place.

"I'll think about it," Claire said.

She walked out of the hospital into the afternoon sun. The air was warm but her skin was covered in goosebumps. Her hands trembled at her sides and she shoved them into her coat pockets.

Felicia knew. She knew exactly who Claire was, and that meeting was not an accident. The hospital was big enough to never cross paths by chance. That woman positioned herself in that elevator on purpose.

Claire reached her car in the parking structure and sat behind the wheel without starting the engine. She gripped the steering wheel and breathed. In. Out. In. Out.

Her phone buzzed. An unknown number. Different from the one that texted her before.

She opened it.

A photo. Felicia and Victor in what looked like a doctor's office. Victor's arm around Felicia's shoulders, both of them smiling at something off-camera. Beneath the photo, one line of text:

[Eight weeks along. He cried when he heard the heartbeat.]

Claire dropped the phone in her lap. Eight weeks. Victor had been walking around their house for eight weeks knowing another woman carried his child, and he never once let his smile slip.

She started the car. Pulled out of the parking lot. Drove home in complete silence with no radio, no music, nothing but the sound of her own breathing and the question that burned in her mind like a fire she could not put out.

Who was sending her these messages? And what did they want?

When she pulled into her driveway twenty minutes later, an unfamiliar black car was parked across the street. Sleek, expensive, with tinted windows so dark she could not see inside. The plate read "R-1."

Claire sat in her car and stared at it. Her heart picked up speed.

Then her phone rang. Unknown number. She answered.

"Claire." Raymond's voice came through the speaker, low and controlled. "I'm parked outside your house. I need to speak with you about something important."

"How do you know where I live?" Claire asked.

A pause. Then: "I know many things. Some of them concern you directly. Will you give me ten minutes?"

Claire looked at the black car. She thought about Victor, about Felicia, about the messages from strangers, about the life she was barely holding together with both hands.

"What is this about?" she asked.

Raymond's answer made her go completely still.

"It's about your architectural designs. The ones your husband stole."