Clara had them donated to a hospital maternity ward.
He tried writing a letter.
Marianne returned it unopened.
He tried sending a message through a mutual friend.
Clara blocked the friend.
Not out of cruelty.
Out of peace.
One month before her due date, Clara returned to New York for a court hearing.
She wore a cream maternity dress and a camel coat. Her hair was pinned back. Her face was calm.
When she entered the courthouse, cameras flashed, but she did not lower her head.
Richard was already inside.
He looked older.
Not ruined in the dramatic way tabloids liked to describe, but diminished. His suit was still expensive, his shoes still polished, but the arrogance had drained from his posture. He stood when she entered.
Clara felt nothing sharp.
That surprised her.
No rage.
No longing.
Only grief for the woman she had been.
“Clara,” he said quietly.
Her attorney moved slightly, but Clara lifted a hand.
“It’s fine.”
Richard swallowed. “You look well.”
“I am.”
His eyes dropped to her belly, and pain crossed his face.
“How’s the baby?”
“Healthy.”
“I’m glad.”
Clara studied him. “Are you?”
The question seemed to wound him.
“Yes.”
She nodded once.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I know I don’t deserve forgiveness.”
“No,” Clara said. “You don’t.”
He flinched.
“I destroyed everything,” he said.
Clara shook her head. “You revealed what was already broken.”
“I was selfish.”
“You were cruel.”
His eyes reddened.
“I’m sorry.”
There it was.
The sentence she had once wanted badly enough to stay awake until dawn.
Now it arrived dressed in regret, carrying nothing she needed.
Clara took a breath.
“I believe you’re sorry,” she said. “But I don’t need it anymore.”
Richard’s face folded.
“I loved you,” he whispered.
Clara’s voice softened. “Maybe. But not in a way that protected me.”
The courtroom doors opened.
Marianne called her name.
Clara turned to go.
Richard spoke again.
