HIS MISTRESS, MY REVENGE
And then he was gone, the curtain settling behind him, and the ward was quiet again.
I lay back against the pillow.
The board book was still in my hands. I turned it over once, the worn corners, the soft spine, a lighthouse on the cover belonging to a man who had built an empire and thought to bring a child’s book to a hospital because it seemed like the right thing.
I pressed it gently to my stomach.
“You’re going to like him,” I said quietly.
Outside the ward window the city lights were coming on one by one, the way they always did, without asking, without ceremony, just arriving because the dark had come and that was what lights did.
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