Chapter 5 - The Castle Walls
The recovery from childbirth is a quiet, blood-tinged process, but inside my suite at Prentice Women’s Hospital, it felt like a tactical debriefing. Two days after Victoria was born, Marianne walked into the room carrying a fresh box of nursing pads in one hand and a thick manila folder in the other.
I was sitting in the armchair by the window, Victoria tucked securely into a grey cloth wrap against my chest. She was sleeping, her little mouth making small, rhythmic sucking movements against my skin.
"How are our two queens?" Marianne asked, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Victoria’s dark hair before dropping the folder onto my bedside table.
"We’re surviving," I said, a faint smile touching my lips. "She gained an ounce today. The pediatrician says her lungs are perfect. What’s the news from the border?"
Marianne let out a short, dry laugh as she pulled up a chair. "Our friend Alejandro down at the Grand Fiesta Americana is an absolute professional. He allowed Ethan and Diane to stay in the service quarters for twenty-four hours after they were evicted from the presidential suite, provided they surrendered their luxury luggage as collateral against the outstanding resort balance."
I stared at her, my hand pausing on Victoria’s back. "The service quarters?"
"Apparently, Diane had to clean the pool cabanas for eight hours to clear the cost of their breakfast," Marianne said, her eyes flashing with a cold, triumphant satisfaction. "Ethan tried to sell his Rolex to a local jewelry broker in downtown Cancún, but because he couldn't provide the original certificate of authenticity or a valid receipt—both of which are currently locked in your house’s master safe—the broker only offered him three hundred dollars for it. He used the cash to buy two standby tickets on a budget regional airline to Houston. They landed at Midway Airport two hours ago."
My grip tightened slightly on the grey cloth wrap. "Are they at the house?"
"They went straight there from the airport," Marianne nodded, pulling out a printout from our smart-home security log. "Ethan tried his master code on the front door at 1:14 PM. When the lock returned an access-denied flash, he tried to kick the lower panel in. The residential security monitoring team immediately flagged the forced entry and dispatched a squad car from the local precinct."
"Did they arrest him?"
"Not yet," Marianne sighed. "He showed the officers his driver’s license with the property address listed on it, so they couldn't charge him with breaking and entering his own home. But the officers did present him with the exclusive occupancy order and the temporary protection directive I secured on Tuesday morning. The police escorted them off the property, Nora. They’re currently sitting in a twenty-four-hour diner down on Cicero Avenue, surrounded by three pieces of cheap carry-on luggage and their airport clothing."
I looked down at Victoria’s perfect, untroubled face. A year ago, the thought of Ethan sitting in a dirty diner with his mother would have filled me with a sickening sense of guilt. I would have wondered if I had gone too far, if I was being the "dramatic" wife Diane always accused me of being. But then I remembered the smell of Diane's perfume in our hallway while my daughter kicked in my stomach, and the way Ethan had told me to call an ambulance because my pregnancy was making him emotionally exhausted.
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"They wanted a reset," I whispered, my voice sounding older, heavier, and completely devoid of regret. "I hope they like the new settings."
"The next phase begins on Monday, Nora," Marianne said, her tone turning strictly professional. "The State Attorney’s Office has assigned a financial crimes investigator to the trust conversion. They want your formal signature on the forgery affidavit. Once that’s logged, Ethan won't just be looking at a divorce court; he’ll be looking at an indictment."
