Chapter 3 - Bradley Comes Back
Bradley arrived the next morning carrying flowers.
Not grocery-store flowers.
White roses.
My favorite.
For years, he had remembered them only after doing something cruel.
Dominic was standing by the window when Bradley entered.
Bradley stopped.
“You’re still here?”
Dominic glanced at me.
“Do you want him removed?”
Bradley laughed.
“This is my wife.”
I looked at him.
“Your girlfriend in Cabo might disagree.”
His face tightened.
“Britney isn’t my wife.”
“Your text said you were getting married.”
“I was angry.”
“So you invented a wedding?”
“It’s complicated.”
Dominic muttered, “It really isn’t.”
Bradley glared at him.
“Can we have privacy?”
I answered.
“No.”
“Rachel.”
“You cancelled my insurance while I was pregnant with your children.”
“I didn’t know you’d go into labor yesterday.”
“You knew I was thirty-two weeks pregnant.”
“I was fixing our finances.”
“You emptied our accounts.”
“There were obligations.”
“To whom?”
Bradley glanced at Dominic.
That told me everything.
“Say it.”
Bradley set down the flowers.
“There were investments that went badly.”
“How badly?”
He rubbed his jaw.
“I needed liquidity.”
“So you took everything.”
“It was marital property.”
“My inheritance wasn’t.”
Bradley went still.
Dominic folded his arms.
There it was.
Bradley had known.
I whispered, “You knew about my mother’s trust.”
Bradley looked away.
“Part of it.”
“For how long?”
“Rachel—”
“How long?”
“Eight months.”
Eight months.
Eight months of him telling me we needed to tighten spending.
Eight months of him complaining about groceries.
Eight months of making me feel guilty for buying maternity clothes.
“You were trying to get access.”
“I was trying to protect us.”
“By forging documents?”
His eyes snapped toward Dominic.
“You told her?”
Dominic’s voice was quiet.
“You just did.”
Bradley’s face changed.
He realized the mistake.
I pressed the call button beside my bed.
A nurse entered.
“Everything okay?”
“Could you ask security to escort my husband out?”
Bradley stepped closer.
“Rachel, don’t do this.”
“Back up.”
He stopped.
I looked at him.
“Did you remove my name from the house?”
He hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Did you drain the accounts?”
“Yes, but—”
“Did you cancel my insurance?”
“I needed to reduce expenses.”
“Did you file for divorce?”
“Yes.”
“Did you send me a message saying I was on my own while I was bleeding?”
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
“Then there’s nothing left to discuss.”
His expression hardened.
“You’re going to choose him?”
I followed his gaze to Dominic.
“This isn’t about choosing him.”
“It absolutely is.”
“No, Bradley. I’m choosing me.”
Two security officers arrived.
Bradley grabbed the flowers.
Then threw them onto the chair.
“You’ll regret this.”
Dominic stepped forward.
I lifted my hand.
“No.”
Dominic stopped.
I looked at Bradley.
“You don’t get to scare me anymore.”
Bradley laughed bitterly.
“You think having Dominic Russo around makes you powerful?”
“No.”
I glanced toward the NICU bracelet around my wrist.
“Having two babies depending on me makes me done wasting time.”
Security escorted him out.
The room became quiet.
Dominic looked at me.
“You handled that well.”
“I’m shaking.”
“Courage usually shakes.”
I looked at him.
“That sounded rehearsed.”
“My mother used to say it.”
“Grandma Russo?”
Dominic smiled faintly.
“She would have terrified Bradley.”
“I think you terrify Bradley.”
“Good.”
I pointed at him.
“Don’t do anything illegal.”
He looked offended.
“I own three logistics companies.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“No illegal activity.”
“Promise?”
His face became serious.
“Promise.”
Later that afternoon, Dr. Kline approved a wheelchair trip to the NICU.
My son lay inside an incubator, impossibly small.
A card read:
BABY BOY MERCER — 3 lb 14 oz
My daughter:
BABY GIRL MERCER — 3 lb 6 oz
I touched the glass.
“They need names.”
Dominic stood several feet away.
“This is family time.”
“You are technically family.”
He looked at me.
“Technically?”
“Don’t get greedy.”
I turned back toward the babies.
“I always liked Noah.”
“For the boy?”
“Yes.”
“And the girl?”
I looked at her tiny hand.
“Grace.”
Dominic stopped breathing for a moment.
“What?”
“My mother’s middle name was Grace.”
His eyes lowered.
“Yes.”
“You remembered.”
“I remember everything about her.”
I looked at him.
For the first time, I saw the man instead of the reputation.
“What was she like before me?”
Dominic smiled.
“Stubborn.”
“Really?”
“Impossible.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“She once threw a shoe at me.”
“Why?”
“I deserved it.”
“What did you do?”
“I don’t remember.”
“That means you definitely remember.”
He laughed.
A NICU nurse approached.
“Mom can do skin-to-skin with Noah today.”
My heart jumped.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
I looked at Grace.
“What about her?”
“Tomorrow, if tonight goes well.”
I nodded.
As they helped me hold Noah against my chest, Dominic turned away.
I noticed him wipe his eye.
I pretended not to.
Then my attorney called.
Dominic had arranged one from an independent firm.
“Rachel,” she said, “we found something concerning.”
“What?”
“Bradley attempted to transfer ownership of the Boston property your mother left you.”
“He can’t.”
“He couldn’t.”
I exhaled.
“But?”
“But the document carried your signature.”
I froze.
“I never signed anything.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because the signature appears to have been copied from your medical power-of-attorney paperwork.”
Dominic’s face became cold.
I whispered, “Bradley forged my signature.”
The lawyer answered.
“That is what the evidence suggests.”
I looked down at Noah sleeping against me.
My fear disappeared.
In its place came something much cleaner.
Anger.
“File everything.”
“Divorce?”
“Divorce. Fraud complaint. Asset freeze. Whatever is legal.”
Dominic watched me.
The lawyer asked, “Are you sure?”
I looked through the NICU glass at Grace.
“Yes.”
Then I added:
May you like
“And I want my name back.”
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