Chapter 5

Annie's POV

"The baby didn't make it."

Philip's words hung in the sterile hospital air. I kept my eyes fixed on the privacy curtain, refusing to acknowledge his carefully neutral expression or the way his CEO persona never wavered, even now.

"Annie?" His voice carried that familiar note of authority—the tone that expected an immediate response. But I remained silent, letting the steady beep of the heart monitor fill the space between us.

The door burst open, and Brian rushed in, his face pale and drawn. "Mom!" His voice cracked. "Mom, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—I wasn't trying to—"

I watched him struggle with his words, noted how his apparent distress never quite reached his eyes. The memory of the fall just hours ago flashed through my mind: the oily sheen on the stairs, his retreating back, the calculated nature of it all.

"I didn't know about the baby," he continued, voice rising hysterically. "I swear I didn't mean for you to—"

"Brian." Philip's sharp tone cut through our son's rambling. "Perhaps this isn't the best time."

But the memories were already flooding back—the cold tiles against my skin, the sudden realization of loss, the knowledge even then that I was losing something precious. Something that represented my last hope for this family. I closed my eyes, suddenly exhausted beyond words. When I opened them again, I found Brian staring at me with an expression that shifted between guilt and something harder to define.

"It's okay," I said finally, my voice surprisingly steady. "You can stop pretending now."

Brian's facade cracked, guilt giving way to defiance. "I'm not pretending! I really am—"

"Sorry?" I finished for him. "No, you're not. And that's okay." The words felt strange on my tongue, but they carried a weight of truth I couldn't deny anymore. "You don't have to pretend to love me anymore, Brian."

His eyes widened, then narrowed. The transformation was remarkable—like watching a mask slip away to reveal the stranger beneath. "I don't," he said, his voice suddenly cold and clear. "I don't want you to be my mom anymore. I want Sarah."

Philip shifted uncomfortably beside me, but remained silent. Always calculating the most advantageous position.

"I know," I said quietly. "And from today, you don't have to worry about that anymore. I'm giving the position to Sarah."

The joy that lit up my son's face felt like a physical blow, but I forced myself to meet his eyes. To memorize this moment, this feeling. "Really?" Brian's voice trembled with excitement now, not distress. "You mean it?"

"I do." I turned to Philip. "We should start discussing divorce arrangements soon." Philip's mask slipped for just a moment, surprise flickering across his features before the composed CEO persona reasserted itself. "If you prefer that way, I can't see how I can change your mind."

Brian was practically bouncing now, all pretense of remorse forgotten. "Can I go call Sarah? Can I tell her?"

"Go ahead," Philip said softly, and our son practically ran from the room.

The silence that followed felt heavier than before, weighted with the death of something that had been dying for longer than I'd wanted to admit. Around eleven-thirty, a knock at my door pulled me from my daze.

I found myself looking up at a man I vaguely remembered from this morning's corridor. He introduced himself as Howard Thompson.

Howard stood with a natural, commanding presence that seemed to fill the room. His features were sharp and professional, his attire perfectly tailored, reflecting a man of significant status and discipline. There was a steady, reliable strength in his posture that made the chaotic atmosphere of the hospital feel suddenly grounded.

Behind him stood a small blonde girl, her eyes fixed on the floor.

"This is Lucy," he continued, gesturing to the silent child beside him. "My niece."

Howard explained that Lucy had suffered a great loss and hadn't spoken for a long time—until she saw me. He offered me a job: working with Lucy, helping her find her voice again.

I looked between them—the silent child and the man who offered a path out of my wreckage. "I'll need time to think about it," I said finally.

"Of course. Take all the time you need." Howard nodded, his expression professional yet filled with a quiet, underlying kindness.