The silence in the hospital room was suffocating, broken only by the steady beep of the vitals monitor and the soft rustle of Madison’s heavy silk train.
Madison looked frantically between Brandon and me, her perfectly manicured hands clutching her bouquet so tightly the stems were snapping. “Brandon, what is she talking about? The ceremony starts in fifteen minutes! Your mother is waiting!”
But Brandon wasn’t listening. His eyes were glued to the tiny tuft of dark hair peeking out from the peach blanket. He took a hesitant step forward, the confidence that usually radiated from him completely evaporated.
“Six months, Claire,” he stammered, his voice cracking. “We’ve been divorced for six months. Math isn’t my strong suit, but that means you were pregnant when we stood in front of the judge. You hid this from me.”
“I didn’t hide anything,” I said, my voice steady, devoid of the anger he was likely bracing for. “I simply abided by the terms of our separation. Terms your high-priced lawyers drew up.”
“You cheated the system!” Madison shrieked, finally stepping forward. The sweet, submissive assistant persona she had worn for years was entirely gone, replaced by a desperate, sharp-edged panic. “Brandon, she’s trying to trap you! She’s trying to ruin our day!”
“Shut up, Madison!” Brandon snapped, not looking at her. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, looking down at me. “If that’s my child, I have rights. I’ll sue for full custody. I’ll tie you up in family court until you don’t have a dime left to your name. You think you can use a baby to extort me?”
I couldn’t help but let out a soft, genuine laugh. It was so entirely Brandon to assume everything was a financial transaction or a power play.
