Champagne Toast To My Dead Babies

The next morning.

When I returned home, the first thing I saw was the family doctor and a nurse.

Kathleen Vance was sitting on the sofa while the nurse prepared an injection.

Her face lit up when she saw me.

"Good morning, Cora! Dad was so worried about my stress levels, he had the doctor give me your special vitamin injections. The expensive, custom-blended ones."

I froze. Ice flooded my veins, extinguishing the last flicker of hope inside me.

My body was incredibly weak from the string of miscarriages. Those injections were specially formulated for me, prohibitively expensive, and incredibly rare.

In five years, Vincent had never once contacted the family doctor himself.

Today, he had personally arranged all of this for his precious adopted daughter.

Using my injections.

"Cora, you're back?"

Kathleen held a glass of juice, watching the nurse unwrap the syringe with a sweet smile.

"Dad said my health is the most important thing, so he arranged for the doctor to come over first thing this morning."

She raised her glass to me. "Want some?"

Yesterday's weeping mess was now playing the lady of the house.

Vincent sat in the armchair, reading the newspaper without lifting his gaze, his casual demeanor a silent, crushing rejection of my ultimatum.

"You're back. There's breakfast in the kitchen."

Did he think last night was a joke?

Or had he already made his choice: to abandon me and indulge his precious daughter?

I said nothing, digging my nails into my palm, the sharp pain a welcome anchor to reality.

My expression was blank as I pulled an invitation to an art exhibition from my bag and slowly tore it to shreds.

I had planned for us to go together to celebrate our fifth wedding anniversary.

I turned and slipped into the study to make a call.

"Elias... I need you to do something for me."

After hanging up, I turned to leave.

From behind me, I heard Kathleen's saccharine whine.

"I already tried to make peace with Cora, why is she still throwing a tantrum..."

"Whatever. Dad arranged this specially for me. It's only natural for her to be jealous."

I didn't go back to our bedroom. I went straight to a vacant penthouse apartment I owned.

On that humiliating morning, I made my decision.

I'm letting you go, Vincent.

You and your precious daughter can have a wonderful life together.

In the afternoon, Vincent's assistant delivered a large, flat package.

He said Vincent had won the piece at an auction, hoping it would cheer me up.

It was his usual tactic: using expensive gifts to paper over problems, to buy my forgiveness.

In front of the assistant, I opened the package with a blank expression.

Then, without a word, I walked to the apartment's trash chute and dropped the priceless artwork right in.

A loud, splintering crash echoed from below, a sound of absolute finality.

The assistant's face went ashen.

It was late when Vincent finally came to the apartment.

I was on the sofa, calmly flipping through a well-worn parenting magazine.

He was seething, his voice an immediate accusation.

"Do you hate me that much?"

"Do you have to throw my feelings back in my face like this? That was a collectible worth millions!"

I didn't even look up from the page. I just took out my phone and dialed a number.

When the call connected, I put it on speaker.

A steady male voice came through.

"Miss Maxwell, have you made your decision?"

I watched Vincent's face turn deathly pale and smiled.

"Elias, I've made my decision."

"I accept your terms."

"And I agree to your terms. As my private investigator, you will have full authority to investigate my family's affairs and my medical records from the past five years."