CHAP 3 — The Apartment Above the Laundromat
The apartment above the laundromat was clean, cold, and too small.
Maxwell stood in the hallway while a pediatric doctor examined Sophie inside. Through the half-open door, he saw details that made his throat close.
A folded blanket on the sofa.
Children’s drawings taped to a cracked wall.
A humidifier held together with blue tape.
A pantry shelf with soup cans lined up like inventory instead of food.
This was where his daughter lived.
While he owned five homes.
While his company acquired towers.
While his mother hosted charity luncheons about family values.
The doctor confirmed Sophie had a stubborn infection but would recover with antibiotics, fluids, and rest. Eleanor thanked her twice, then paid nothing because Maxwell had already arranged it through his assistant.
When the doctor left, Eleanor stood in the doorway.
“You don’t get to walk in here and decide we belong to you.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“You’re right.”
That made her pause.
The old Maxwell would have argued.
The old Maxwell would have explained, defended, negotiated, dominated the room with calm logic until feelings became inconvenient.
This Maxwell stood in a wet overcoat, looking at the life he had missed.
“I need to see the document,” he said.
Eleanor walked to a drawer and pulled out a folder so worn the edges had softened.
Inside were letters.
Returned envelopes.
Medical bills.
A copy of Sophie’s birth certificate with the father line blank.
And a document that made Maxwell’s blood run cold.
Statement of Non-Paternity and Waiver of Claim.
His name sat at the bottom.
Maxwell Callahan.
The signature looked close enough to fool someone who wanted it to be real.
But it was not his.
“My God,” he whispered.
Eleanor watched him carefully.
“You really didn’t sign it.”
“No.”
The words came out broken.
She looked away.
“I wanted to believe you didn’t. Then Sophie was born, rent was due, and believing anything became a luxury.”
Maxwell looked at the returned letters.
“You sent all these?”
“Every month for the first year. Then I stopped humiliating myself.”
He opened one.
Max,
I’m eight months pregnant. I don’t know what your mother told you, but this baby is yours. I’m not asking for the mansion. I’m asking you to look me in the eye and say what you want.
He folded it carefully.
His hands were shaking.
“I never got this.”
Eleanor’s face hardened.
“Then find out who did.”
At that moment, Sophie called from the sofa.
“Mommy?”
Eleanor went instantly.
Maxwell stayed by the door.
Sophie looked at him sleepily.
“Are you the man from the medicine place?”
“Yes.”
“Are you making Mommy sad?”
The question nearly destroyed him.
“I’m trying not to.”
May you like
She stared at him with his own eyes.
“Okay,” she murmured. “Try harder.”
