CHAP 2 — The Math in the Rain
Eleanor took the pharmacy bag without thanking him.
Maxwell deserved that.
She lifted the little girl onto her hip and walked out into the rain beneath a broken umbrella.
Maxwell stood frozen for three seconds.
Then he followed.
Not too close.
He had frightened Eleanor enough in the past without ever meaning to. He would not trap her now.
She walked two blocks through the rain, one arm tight around the child, until she reached an old brick apartment building above a laundromat. It was the kind of building Maxwell passed every day and never truly saw.
The little girl’s head rested against Eleanor’s shoulder.
“Eleanor,” he called.
She stopped at the doorway but did not face him.
“Please.”
That one word did what money never could.
She turned.
Rain clung to her eyelashes.
“We have nothing to talk about.”
Maxwell looked at the child.
“What’s her name?”
Eleanor’s jaw tightened.
“Sophie.”
The little girl lifted her feverish face.
“I’m Sophie.”
Maxwell swallowed.
“I’m Maxwell.”
She considered him seriously.
“Mommy used to say that name when she cried.”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
Maxwell felt the sentence cut through him.
“How old is she?”
“Don’t ask me that.”
“How old, Eleanor?”
Her voice nearly disappeared beneath the rain.
“Two years and eight months.”
The world shifted under his feet.
Three years since Eleanor left.
Two years and eight months since Sophie was born.
The math was merciless.
“She’s mine.”
It was not a question.
Eleanor looked at him then, truly looked at him, and every wall between them seemed to turn to glass.
“Yes, Max. She’s yours.”
For a moment, he could not speak.
Rain ran down his face and into his collar. He did not feel it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Eleanor gave a small, bitter laugh.
“I tried.”
The answer hit harder than accusation.
“What do you mean?”
She shifted Sophie higher on her hip.
“I called. Your office blocked me. I wrote. Your attorneys returned every letter unopened. I went to the mansion once, seven months pregnant, and your mother met me at the gate with two security guards and a document saying you had renounced paternity.”
Maxwell stared at her.
“My mother?”
“Vivian told me you knew. She said you wanted no scandal, no child, and no more contact.”
“No.”
“She showed me a signed statement.”
“I never signed anything.”
Eleanor’s eyes filled, but her voice stayed sharp.
“Then someone signed for you.”
Sophie whimpered.
Eleanor immediately looked down.
“I need to get her upstairs.”
Maxwell stepped aside.
“I’m calling a pediatric specialist.”
“No.”
“For Sophie. Not to control you.”
Eleanor hesitated.
May you like
He saw exhaustion win over pride.
“Fine,” she said. “But you wait in the hallway.”
