Chapter 6 - Inside the Sanctuary
The apartment was small, cramped, and smelled faintly of lavender soap and roasted chicken.
It was packed with evidence of a life built on a budget, yet filled with tremendous love. The furniture was secondhand—a faded blue sofa covered with a knitted throw blanket, a small wooden dining table with mis-matched chairs, and walls covered in children’s drawings framed in inexpensive tape.
In the corner sat a small desk crowded with graphic design monitors, sketchpads, and a stack of overdue medical invoices held down by a paperweight.
Wesley stepped inside, feeling like a giant in a fragile dollhouse. He set the bakery bag on the kitchen counter, conscious of how starkly his expensive clothes clashed with the humble room.
Leo was sitting at the small dining table, working on a math worksheet. When Wesley entered, the boy dropped his pencil and stared at him with intense, curious dark eyes—eyes that were an exact mirror of Wesley’s own.
“Are you rich?” Leo asked bluntly, without any childish shyness.
“Leo!” Nina scolded gently, shutting the door behind Wesley.
“It’s okay,” Wesley said, taking a step toward the table. He looked down at his son, his chest aching with a mixture of pride and profound regret. “I have a lot of money, Leo. But that doesn't mean much.”
“It means you can buy a car that doesn't smell like wet dog,” Leo replied reasonably. “Our taxi smelled like wet dog today.”
A faint, genuine smile cracked through Wesley’s solemnity. “I can definitely get you a car that doesn't smell like wet dog.”
Nina walked over to the table, placing a protective hand on Leo’s shoulder. “Kids, go into your bedroom and finish your drawings for a few minutes. I need to speak to... to Mr. Cole.”
Clara grabbed a chocolate croissant from the bag on the counter with a quiet squeal of joy, while Leo took his time gathering his pencils, keeping his eyes locked on Wesley until the bedroom door clicked shut behind them.
The living room fell into a heavy, quiet stillness.
Nina crossed her arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Say what you came to say, Wesley. Then I want you to leave.”
Wesley walked over to the desk in the corner, his eyes drifting over the stack of medical bills. He picked up the top statement from New York Presbyterian Hospital.
Past Due Balance: $14,280.00.
“Why didn't you reach out to me when Clara got sick?” Wesley asked, his voice thick with emotion as he held up the paper. “Even if you hated me, Nina... even if you never wanted to see my face again, you knew I had money. You knew I could have paid for the best surgeons in the world without a second thought.”
Nina let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Reach out to you? Wesley, by the time Clara was born, you were on the cover of Forbes magazine. You were being called the 'Iceberg of Wall Street.' Every time I turned on the news, you were opening a new office in London or Tokyo, standing next to politicians and supermodels.”
She stepped forward, her eyes blazing with suppressed fury. “I wasn't going to crawl back to a man who abandoned me, begging for scraps like a servant! I raised my children on my own. I earned every single dollar that paid for her surgery!”
“She’s my daughter too!” Wesley shouted, unable to contain the surge of emotion any longer.
May you like
Nina froze. She looked at him with an expression that was terrifyingly calm.
“No, Wesley,” Nina said softly. “She isn't.”
