Chapter 2 - THE FATHER WHO ASKED HOW MUCH IT WOULD COST
Ethan arrived at Rebecca's office seven minutes early.
He wore a charcoal suit instead of black.
I noticed because he used to say charcoal was too soft for important meetings.
Apparently he wasn't sure what kind of meeting this was.
He stopped when he saw me.
"Emma."
"Ethan."
His eyes moved over my face.
"You look tired."
"Excellent opening."
He winced.
Rebecca invited us into the conference room.
Ethan sat opposite me.
No bodyguards entered.
That was new.
He placed his phone facedown on the table.
That was not.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Finally, he said:
"What happened?"
I reached into my purse and placed the doctor's confirmation on the table.
Ethan looked at the paper.
Then at me.
Then back at the paper.
His expression changed so completely that I felt an unexpected stab of concern.
"You're pregnant?"
"Yes."
He picked up the page.
"Six weeks?"
"Approximately."
He counted backward.
I could almost see the numbers moving behind his eyes.
"The last night."
"Yes."
Ethan leaned back.
Then covered his mouth with one hand.
For ten years, I had watched him maintain perfect control while men threatened him, executives betrayed him, and fortunes shifted around him.
I had never seen him look like this.
Not frightened exactly.
Overwhelmed.
"Are you certain?"
"The doctor is."
He closed his eyes.
Then opened them.
"Are you keeping it?"
"Yes."
The answer seemed to move through him slowly.
He looked down at the paper again.
"I'm going to be a father."
There was something in his voice that almost made me reach across the table.
Almost.
Then he said:
"How much do you need?"
My hand stopped.
Rebecca looked at me.
I looked at Ethan.
"What?"
"Medical expenses. A larger place. A driver. Security. Whatever you need."
Of course.
Of course that was where his mind went.
Money.
Logistics.
Solve the problem.
I laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
"You don't understand, do you?"
He frowned.
"Emma, I'm trying to take responsibility."
"By asking for a number."
"Would you rather I offered nothing?"
"I would rather you asked how I was feeling."
His face changed.
I continued.
"I would rather you asked whether I was scared."
"Whether I had been sleeping."
"Whether I had someone to go with me to the doctor."
"Whether I wanted you involved."
Ethan looked at Rebecca.
She did not rescue him.
Good.
He turned back toward me.
"Are you scared?"
"Yes."
"Are you sleeping?"
"Not well."
"Do you have someone helping you?"
"Jo."
He nodded.
Then:
"Do you want me involved?"
That question was harder.
I looked at the pregnancy confirmation.
"You're the father."
"That's not what I asked."
For the first time, he had heard the difference.
I took a breath.
"Yes. If you can be involved without trying to take control."
He stared.
"What does that mean?"
"It means you don't get to decide where I live because you're worried."
"You don't get to install security without asking."
"You don't get to buy a house and call it a gift if it creates an obligation."
"And you don't get to use the baby as a reason to reopen our marriage."
Pain moved across his face.
"Emma—"
"No."
I shook my head.
"We're divorced."
"I know."
"Then act like it."
Silence.
Rebecca slid a preliminary parenting framework toward him.
It covered medical information, financial support, confidentiality, security, and communication.
Ethan scanned it.
Then stopped at one paragraph.
No unilateral surveillance or tracking of Emma Hayes or her residence.
He looked up.
"You think I would have you followed?"
I stared.
He understood the answer before I spoke.
Ethan's expression darkened.
Not at me.
At something he remembered.
"What?"
I asked.
He reached for his phone.
Then stopped.
"Nothing."
My stomach tightened.
"Ethan."
"I need to check something."
"Right now?"
His jaw flexed.
Then he put the phone down.
"No."
He looked at me.
"You're right. This meeting comes first."
It should not have been a remarkable thing.
But it was.
We discussed the pregnancy.
The next ultrasound.
My preferred doctor.
The fact that I would remain in my own apartment.
Ethan asked whether he could attend an appointment.
I said I would think about it.
He accepted the answer.
At the end, Rebecca told us that formal custody and support arrangements could be completed as the situation developed.
Ethan stood.
Then hesitated.
"Emma."
I looked up.
"That last thing I said the day we divorced."
I knew exactly which thing.
Whatever you decide medically, I'll cover the expenses.
He swallowed.
"I thought I was giving you a choice."
"You were."
I said.
"But you made it sound like my body was another account you were prepared to settle."
His face tightened.
"That wasn't what I meant."
"I believe you."
He looked almost relieved.
I continued.
"That doesn't change what it sounded like."
The relief vanished.
Good.
He nodded.
"You're right."
We stood in the hallway.
For one foolish second, I expected him to hug me.
He didn't.
"May I have a copy of the next ultrasound?"
He asked.
"If everything goes well?"
I looked at him.
"Yes."
He nodded.
"Thank you."
Then he left.
Rebecca waited until the elevator doors closed.
"What are you thinking?"
I stared at the empty hallway.
"That he wants to be a father."
"Yes."
"And?"
I swallowed.
"I'm afraid he still thinks wanting something means he gets to arrange it."
The following evening, Ethan's head of security, Grant Maddox, appeared outside my apartment.
He stood beside a black SUV.
Two men waited nearby.
My stomach tightened.
Grant had worked for Ethan for six years.
He had always been polite to me.
He also had a habit of speaking as though every instruction came directly from God.
"Mrs. Blackwood."
"Hayes."
He paused.
"Ms. Hayes. Mr. Blackwood has requested a security review of your new residence."
"No."
His expression did not change.
"It won't take long."
"I said no."
"The current location is not properly secured."
"According to whom?"
"Blackwood Security."
"Then Blackwood Security can find something else to review."
I started toward the door.
Grant stepped aside, but his voice followed me.
"Mr. Blackwood has a legitimate interest in protecting his child."
I turned.
"The child is currently inside my body."
"That doesn't give Ethan permission to send men to my apartment."
Grant's mouth tightened.
"I'll report your decision."
"Please do."
I went inside.
Then immediately called Ethan.
He answered on the second ring.
"Emma?"
"Did you send Grant?"
Silence.
"Yes."
My chest tightened.
"After our meeting?"
"I asked him to evaluate the building."
"Without asking me."
"Emma, the entrance has one camera and no controlled parking."
"You promised not to make security decisions for me."
"I didn't install anything."
"You sent three men to my home."
His breathing changed.
"I was worried."
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
The word he always believed could justify everything.
"Worry doesn't give you ownership."
Silence.
Then:
"You're right."
I almost dropped the phone.
"What?"
"I said you're right."
He sounded furious.
Not with me.
With himself.
"I'll call Grant."
"No."
I said.
"Tell him to stop. Then send me written confirmation that nobody is monitoring me."
Ethan hesitated.
The hesitation mattered.
"Is someone monitoring me?"
Another silence.
"Emma..."
My blood went cold.
"Answer the question."
He exhaled.
"There was a security profile established after the threat at the penthouse last year."
"What security profile?"
"It includes your car, approved residences, travel patterns, and emergency contacts."
"Does it still exist?"
"Yes."
"Even after the divorce?"
He said nothing.
That was the answer.
I sat down.
My entire life had changed legally.
But somewhere inside Ethan's organization, I was still listed as a protected Blackwood family member.
A person whose location could be checked by men I did not choose.
I spoke very quietly.
"Cancel it."
"Emma, if something happens—"
"Cancel it."
A long silence.
Then:
"Okay."
I hung up.
For ten years, Ethan had told me the Blackwood name kept me safe.
May you like
Now, sitting in my own apartment with a child growing inside me, I was beginning to wonder how much of my life that name had quietly taken.
And I had no idea that Grant Maddox was about to prove the distinction between protection and possession mattered far more than either of us understood.
