115.until Monday morning,” Derek finished, his fingers digging into the slope of Sienna’s bare hip.

*(Word count: ~800 words)*

“—

He didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t realize the air in the room had plummeted ten degrees until Sienna’s entire body went rigid against his lap. Her manicured hand slipped from his hair, knocking against his shoulder like deadwood.

“Derek,” Sienna choked out, her voice barely a rasp.

“I heard you the first time, baby. She’s at St. Jude’s, hopped up on painkillers, whining to the nurses about her stitches. We are completely, entirely alone.”

“She’s standing in the doorway, Derek.”

The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating.

Derek’s eyes snapped open. For a split second, his face held the irritated sneer of a man who hated being interrupted. Then his gaze drifted toward the threshold.

Audrey stood there, framed by the white molding of the bedroom door.

Her face was paper-white, stripped of all color save for the dark, bruised circles carved beneath her eyes. Her dark hair was pulled into a low, hurried knot. Strapped to her chest in an ivory linen sling, five-day-old Maisie slept, her tiny hand tucked beneath her chin. Audrey’s hand rested over the infant’s back, steady and motionless.

Derek recoiled so violently that Sienna nearly tumbled off the bed. He scrambled backward against the tufted velvet headboard, dragging a corner of the Egyptian cotton sheet across his lap. His throat bobbed. The smooth, invincible CEO of Halston Logistics vanished, replaced by an animal caught in a snare.

“Audrey,” he stammered. The baritone laugh from seconds ago was gone, replaced by a thin, reedy squeak. “You… the discharge papers said Monday. Dr. Morrison said—”

“Dr. Morrison discharged me early because my vitals stabilized,” Audrey said. Her voice didn't shake. It was terrifyingly calm, smooth as frozen glass. “The hospital social worker offered to call you a taxi when my seventeen calls went to voicemail. I told them not to bother. I told them my husband was likely closing an urgent logistics merger.”

Her gaze dropped to the floor, tracking the trail of green silk and lace, before drifting slowly to the corner of the master bedroom.

Maisie’s bassinet. The custom white birch wood, carved by an artisan in Maine, draped with the heirloom lace bumper pads Audrey’s grandmother had embroidered by hand before she died.

Resting squarely inside the bassinet, crushing the fragile lace, was Derek’s mud-splattered leather gym duffel.

Something inside Audrey didn't break; it calcified. Every tear she had held back during thirty-six hours of agonizing labor, every ounce of terror she had felt when the monitors screamed and the surgeons sliced through seven layers of her flesh while Derek ignored his phone—it all congealed into pure, unyielding granite.

Sienna scrambled off the bed, clutching Audrey’s cream cashmere robe tightly around her throat. Her designer bronzer seemed garish under the natural light. “Audrey… look, this isn't… Derek told me you two were already legally separated—”

“Do not speak to me,” Audrey whispered.

The command was so low, so absolute, that Sienna instantly snapped her mouth shut, pressing her back against the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Derek found his footing, tossing the sheet aside as he grabbed his linen trousers and yanked them up his thighs. “Audrey, listen to me. You’re exhausted. You’re hormonal. You just went through major surgery. We need to sit down downstairs, have a drink, and talk through this rationally—”

“Get your bag out of my daughter’s bed.”

Derek blinked, thrown off balance. “What?”

“Get your bag out of her bed before I take the shears from the garden shed and cut it into pieces, along with every bespoke suit hanging in that closet.”

Derek swallowed hard, stepping gingerly across the hardwood floor, keeping his eyes locked on his wife as if she were holding a loaded weapon. He reached out and snatched the duffel bag from the bassinet. The dented lace slowly sprang back into shape, though the imprint remained.

“Audrey, please,” Derek pleaded, his voice dropping into the soothing, manipulative cadence he used to close multi-million-dollar accounts. “You’re making a scene in front of a guest. Let’s get Sienna a car, let’s get Maisie settled in the nursery, and—”

“She isn't your guest, Derek. She’s your accomplice.” Audrey stepped backward into the hallway, giving the bedroom a wide berth. Her surgical incision burned like a ring of fire across her pelvis, but she stood tall, her spine straight as an iron rod. “And you have five minutes to get out of this house.”

“This is my house!” Derek hissed, his mask slipping, a flash of ugly arrogance breaking through. “My name is on the deed, Audrey!”

Audrey looked at him with an expression of profound, soul-deep revulsion.

“Check the deed again, Derek. My trust purchased this property three years before I ever made the mistake of putting a ring on your finger. You have five minutes. If you are still on this floor when I come back up, I won't call the police. I’ll call the board of directors.”