Chapter 4 - The Bloodstained Memory
Claire gripped the edge of the desk, her knuckles turning as white as chalk under the harsh office lights.
"Do you remember the night Sophie died, Alexander?" Claire asked, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper.
"Claire, that was years ago, leave the dead in peace," Alexander replied impatiently, sighing into the phone.
"Answer me," Claire demanded, her voice cutting through the speaker with razor-sharp intensity.
"You told me you were in New York for an emergency meeting when the intruders broke in," she reminded him.
"I called you fourteen times while I was bleeding on the staircase, screaming for you to come home and save our child."
Silence stretched across the cellular network, thick, suffocating, and laden with unspoken guilt.
"You didn't go to New York that night, did you?" Claire asked, the awful truth crystallizing in her mind.
Alexander swallowed hard, the rustle of hospital sheets audible in the background of his call.
"Olivia had sliced her hand open on a broken vase at her apartment that evening," Alexander finally muttered.
"She was terrified, she had an anxiety attack, and she needed someone to sit with her in urgent care," he confessed.
"You saw my name on your screen while my baby was dying inside me," Claire whispered, her voice barely audible.
"I saw the calls, yes, but I thought you were just lonely again," Alexander admitted without a trace of remorse.
"I thought you were calling to ask when I would be home for dinner, like you always did when you were needy."
"I was going to call you back as soon as Olivia got her stitches done and settled down to sleep," he added casually.
"By the time I checked my voicemail, the police had already taken you to the county trauma center," he said.
Claire closed her eyes as the memory of Sophie’s cold ultrasound screen flashed violently before her mind.
While she had been lying in her own blood, begging God to spare their daughter, Alexander was holding Olivia’s hand over a scratch.
He had weighed the lives of his wife and unborn child against his mistress’s minor cut and chose the mistress.
"You murdered our daughter, Alexander," Claire said, each word dropping like a stone into an abyss.
"Don't be dramatic, Claire, the intruders caused the fall, not me," Alexander snapped defensively.
"Delete the comment, or I will have my lawyers tie up your bank accounts for the next five years," he threatened.
Claire did not answer him; she simply pressed the red button and ended the call forever.
She stood up, walked out of the law office, and drove directly to her mother’s luxury condominium in Gold Coast.
She needed one person, just one member of her family, to tell her that she wasn't going insane.
When Evelyn opened the door wearing a silk robe bought with Alexander's holiday checks, she did not look surprised.
"I assume you saw the news," Evelyn said coldly, stepping aside to let Claire enter the foyer.
"You congratulated her, Mother," Claire said, her voice shaking with disbelief.
"You congratulated the woman who slept with my husband while I was burying your granddaughter!"
Evelyn poured herself a glass of chardonnay, not even bothering to look her daughter in the eyes.
"Grow up, Claire, marriages among powerful men are complicated arrangements," Evelyn said without flinching.
"Alexander was generous to this family, he paid off your brother's debts and bought this penthouse for me."
"Olivia comes from an old banking family, she knows how to handle a man of Alexander's status without complaining."
"You were always too fragile, too emotional, and too obsessed with playing the victim," Evelyn stated coldly.
"I kept quiet because Alexander's wealth secured our family's future, and you threw it all away over pride."
Claire looked at the woman who had given birth to her and felt an absolute, liberating emptiness hollow out her chest.
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"A mother protects her child, Evelyn, she doesn't sell her daughter's soul for a penthouse," Claire said quietly.
She turned on her heel and walked out the door, leaving her mother, her marriage, and her entire past behind.
