Chapter 2 - FOUR HOURS OF MONITORS
The obstetric floor smelled like disinfectant and warm blankets.
Hadrian sat beside me without moving for almost four hours.
The baby’s heartbeat remained reassuring.
No bleeding.
No rupture.
No regular contractions.
My shins bruised.
My hip ached.
The obstetrician ordered observation because falls in the third trimester are not dismissed simply because the pregnant person says she feels fine.
Good.
I hated being rightfully overruled.
The doctor asked:
“Did your abdomen strike the ground?”
“No. I turned.”
“Any direct strike from suitcase?”
“Legs.”
“Any pain here?”
She pressed carefully.
“No.”
The baby kicked against her hand.
She smiled.
“Someone has opinions.”
Hadrian almost cried.
I did not tease him.
Then hospital social work arrived because the injury involved family violence.
I told the truth.
Seraphine kicked the suitcase into me.
Leander was present.
Hadrian later threw Seraphine’s suitcase and caused her to fall.
Separate conduct.
The social worker asked:
“Do you feel safe going home?”
“Yes, if they are not there.”
“Can they legally remain?”
“Temporarily disputed.”
Hadrian said:
“My lawyer is handling possession tonight.”
The social worker looked at him.
“Not you?”
“No.”
Good.
Then police called.
Garage footage had been preserved.
The video showed:
My suitcase stationary.
Seraphine stepping backward.
Looking at me.
Driving her heel into it.
Suitcase striking me.
My fall.
No ambiguity about “slipped.”
Then Hadrian’s throw.
Also clear.
The prosecutor would decide both.
Hadrian did not ask me to minimize his part.
That mattered.
Then Leander sent his first message.
Not to me.
To Hadrian.
COME TO THE OFFICE TOMORROW. ALONE.
Hadrian showed me.
“What office?”
“Company.”
“Are you going?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“I need to know what he’s doing.”
“You don’t go alone.”
His mouth tightened.
I had never given him an order like that.
Then I remembered:
Hadrian had hidden a house closing from me.
Maybe not intentionally hidden.
But not fully shared.
He had also apparently been preparing for family conflict.
“How long have you known they wanted me gone?”
He sat back.
“I didn’t.”
“Don’t answer too fast.”
“I knew Dad disliked the marriage.”
“That is not what I asked.”
Silence.
Then:
“Three months ago, he suggested we live separately until after the baby was born.”
My skin went cold.
“What?”
“He called it practical.”
“And you never told me?”
“I told him no.”
“That doesn’t erase the fact he said it.”
“I know.”
“What exactly?”
Hadrian rubbed his face.
“He said you were distracting me from the company transition. He said the pregnancy was making everything emotional. He suggested you stay in the guest cottage after delivery.”
“After?”
“Yes.”
“With the baby?”
He hesitated.
“His wording was vague.”
“What wording?”
“‘The child should remain in the main household.’”
I stared.
There.
Earlier version.
Same idea.
“Who was in the room?”
“Seraphine.”
Of course.
“What did she say?”
“That you would be more comfortable elsewhere while recovering.”
I laughed.
It sounded ugly even to me.
“More comfortable without my newborn?”
“I shut it down.”
“And then bought the house?”
“That was already in motion.”
“Why?”
He looked at the monitor.
Then me.
“Dad needed liquidity.”
“For what?”
“Company.”
There.
“Problem?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Hadrian.”
He sighed.
“Expansion debt.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know the final number.”
“You work there.”
“I know.”
“That means you know enough to be scared.”
He looked away.
We were going to have a much larger conversation.
Not tonight.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I let it go.
Voicemail.
Seraphine.
I did not play it.
Hadrian said:
“Good.”
I looked at him.
“Do not praise me like I’m a child.”
“Sorry.”
Then he said:
“I want a protective order.”
“Maybe.”
“Kerensa.”
“Maybe.”
“After what happened?”
“Yes, after what happened. I want legal advice. I don’t want us using court orders as emotional weapons.”
He went silent.
Then nodded.
Fair.
Our attorney would advise.
Then the nurse came in.
“Baby still looks good.”
Relief.
I asked:
“When can I go home?”
“If the next monitoring period stays reassuring, probably tonight.”
Home.
The word felt strange.
The house belonged to Hadrian now.
Legally.
But Leander and Seraphine were still there under a possession dispute until their attorney and ours sorted the move.
Could I call it home if the people inside believed my baby belonged there more than I did?
Hadrian squeezed my hand.
“We can stay at a hotel.”
“No.”
“You don’t have to prove anything.”
“I’m not.”
Then I stopped.
Maybe I was.
Going back immediately could become another contest.
The social worker recommended:
Stay elsewhere until law enforcement and counsel confirm safe access.
I agreed.
Not because Seraphine won.
Because pregnancy did not need symbolism.
Then Hadrian received another message.
This one from Leander.
ZERO COMPANY ACCESS UNTIL WE TALK.
Hadrian read it.
No reaction.
Then another.
YOUR CHILD WILL STILL BE PROVIDED FOR.
My body went cold.
Not:
you and Kerensa.
Your child.
Again.
The baby separated from us in the sentence.
Hadrian handed the phone to his lawyer.
“Preserve everything.”
Good.
Then I finally played Seraphine’s voicemail.
Her voice was calm.
Almost gentle.
“Kerensa, none of this needed to become ugly. Leander is prepared to guarantee the baby’s future. You are making Hadrian throw away things that belong to generations. Think before you force him to choose.”
No threat.
No custody claim.
No explanation.
But one phrase mattered.
Guarantee the baby’s future.
Something existed on paper.
May you like
I could feel it.
I just did not know what.
