Chapter 3 - The Cold Truth of the Past
“Leo, Lily, go with Dr. Sarah inside the playroom for just a minute,” Natalie said softly, her voice remarkably steady despite the pale tremor in her lips. She knelt down, brushing a dark curl from the little girl’s forehead with a reassuring smile. “Mommy needs to talk to this gentleman. I’ll be right on the other side of the glass.”
The children hesitated, their suspicious gazes darting between Natalie and me, before the little boy—Leo—took his sister's hand and reluctantly shuffled into the brightly lit room down the hall.
As soon as the glass door clicked shut, Natalie stood up. She didn't look broken anymore. She looked like a woman who had survived a war and learned how to forge her own armor.
“You shouldn't have come, Lucas,” she said quietly, her arms crossed defensively over her chest.
“I received a text,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, stepping closer as if afraid she might vanish like a ghost. “Natalie... what is this? Who are they?”
A bitter, humorless laugh escaped her lips. She looked up at the ceiling for a moment, blinking back hot tears, before locking her gaze back onto mine.
“They are my children, Lucas. Our children.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, staggering me back a step. “Our children? But... the doctors... years ago, specialist after specialist told us—”
“That I couldn't carry a child?” Natalie finished for me, her eyes flashing with a sudden, searing fury. “That I was the barren one? That my body was broken?”
“Yes!” I pleaded, desperate for answers. “We sat in those offices together! We heard the test results!”
“No, Lucas. You heard what you wanted to hear,” she said, stepping right up to me, her voice dropping to a harsh, accusing whisper. “Did you ever once look at the actual clinical files with an independent doctor? Or did you just trust the fertility clinic recommended by your glowing, perfect, supportive second wife—Evelyn Brooks?”
My blood ran cold. The name echoed in my head like a gunshot.
Evelyn.
Memories flashed through my mind at blinding speed. The sudden introduction to Dr. Vance through Evelyn’s social circle. The quiet insistence that we use their preferred clinic in downtown Chicago. The way Evelyn had subtly comforted me after every failed test, gently whispering that perhaps it was time to accept that Natalie wasn't meant to be a mother.
“Evelyn had nothing to do with this,” I stammered, though even to my own ears, the defense sounded hollow and pathetic.
“Didn't she?” Natalie asked, shaking her head in bitter disbelief. “Two months after you walked out on me—the very week our divorce was finalized—I found out I was pregnant. Naturally. The exact thing every specialist claimed was medically impossible. I tried to call you. I went to your office, I called your private line, I sent letters. But your new fiancée had already blocked my number, locked down your schedule, and made sure any message from me went straight into the trash.”
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I stared at her, the room tilting violently on its axis. My empire, my wealth, my reputation—it all felt like ash in my mouth.
“I was alone, Lucas,” Natalie whispered, a single tear finally tracing its way down her cheek. “I lost our apartment, I lost my savings, and I had to raise two infants while working two jobs just to keep a roof over our heads. And all the while, you were hosting charity galas in the Hamptons with the woman who engineered my destruction.”
