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After Rafael had left, Louisa had thought desperately of calling the police, then despaired. Rafael was, after all, Noah’s father! So instead, she’d called Agustina, who’d cried with her over the phone. The older woman had promised to try to help. But what could she do, really?
Now, Louisa was numb. She shivered and shook in the cold, then rose and put on a T-shirt and pajama pants before her knees became weak and she collapsed back on the carpet. She stared up at the ceiling, staring blankly at a long, thin crack in the plaster.
She had cried until there were no tears left. She was numb. No: she was dead. When Rafael had left her, taking their sobbing baby with him, she had died inside.
Now nothing was left of her. She rose slowly to her feet. Opening the screen door, she went out to stand on the balcony. She stared out at the night. She felt the cold breeze against her hot face.
Across the river she could see the lit-up Eiffel Tower. She looked down into the darkness beneath the balcony. It would be so easy, she thought. So easy to end all the grief and pain with just one easy jump. She gripped the railing of the balcony, looking down at the street.
But she had to believe there was some chance she might see her husband and child again. She had to live in the hope someday she would hold them both in her arms.
She felt something cold and stinging against her face and realized she’d been wrong. She did, after all, have some tears left.
A hard knock sounded at the door.
Who could it be at this time of night? Who would the bodyguard even allow to come to her door?
For a moment, she didn’t move. She stayed outside in the darkness. Then she heard something that ricocheted through her like a bullet.
Her son’s cry.
With a choked gasp, Louisa ran inside, rushing across the apartment to fling open the door.
“Madame Cruz,” she heard the elderly French nanny say, “your husband sent me…”
But Louisa heard no more. With a sob, Louisa took her son from the other woman’s arms. She whispered words of love to her baby as she cradled him close, kissing his plump cheeks, his downy head, his fat arms. Noah hugged her desperately, and in a few moments, he ceased crying. He finally became calm, then abruptly fell asleep in her arms.
“Ah,” the French nanny said tenderly, looking down at the baby in Louisa’s arms. “Enfin, he sleeps.”
For the first time, Louisa looked at her. “What are you doing here?” she said, feeling like she was in a dream. “Why did Rafael send Noah back to me?”
The Frenchwoman shook her head. “I do not know, madame. But he wanted the baby brought to you immediately, even though it’s the middle of the night.” Stretching, she gave a discreet yawn. “If you please, I will go home now.”
“But—he isn’t demanding I send him back?”
“No,” she replied quietly. “Monsieur Cruz said I was to make it particularly clear that he would never try to take Noah away from you again. He did ask if you would meet him for breakfast tomorrow.”
Louisa’s eyes narrowed. Meet Rafael for coffee and croissants, pretending nothing had happened, after all he’d done to her? Or worse—a preliminary meeting to discuss their imminent divorce? “No.”
The other woman nodded with a rueful shrug. “I will relay your answer to him, madame. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go home to my bed.”
Louisa cradled her sweet baby in her arms all night. She slept slumped on the rocking chair, unwilling to be apart.
When she woke the next morning, she heard a knock on the door and answered it, her heart in her throat. She expected to find Rafael on her doorstep, demanding in his cold way for her to come with him to breakfast so they could meet with his lawyers.
Instead she saw a delivery boy staggering beneath the weight of a huge arrangement of roses, hundreds of them in every color.
“Flowers for you, madame,” he gasped.
“Who sent these?” Then, behind him, Louisa saw the bodyguard smile, and she knew.
“Send them all back!” she thundered, and slammed the door.
But for the next three days, the gifts kept coming. No matter how firmly she sent them back, they didn’t stop arriving. First there were the flowers, then after that came a team of manicurists and masseuses from the day spa. She received packages of clothes from all the top French designers. Handbags, exotic shoes, ball gowns. The capper was when a sports car in hot pink, with a big bow on the hood, was dropped off at the curb.
She refused them all.
Next came multiple deliveries from the finest jewelers in the city. Long ropes of priceless pearls. An emerald bracelet. A necklace of hundreds of sapphires. And finally: a diamond solitaire, as big as a robin’s egg, set in platinum.
