Chapter 8 - THE VISITOR AT THREE
The appointment had been on Vivian’s calendar for four days.
Three o’clock Sunday. Bellini residence. Welfare observation.
The visitor was a private family assessor hired by Vivian’s lawyer, not a court-appointed official. Her name was Helen Price, and she was furious when Ortiz explained what had happened.
“I was told Mr. Bellini agreed to an assessment.”
He had agreed to nothing.
Helen provided the emails arranging the visit. Charles had described a father too unstable to manage a household, a baby regularly left unattended, and a sister ready to intervene.
Some details were ugly because they were true.
Roman had missed appointments. He had left care decisions to employees. He had refused visitors who reminded him of Claire.
Other details were invented.
And the baby had been placed in a locked car just before the assessor was due.
“She was supposed to see him,” Rachel said when Nora explained the timeline.
Roman nodded once.
Rachel looked sick.
“They needed a picture.”
Outside the treatment room, Sophie drew a blue square around a small orange circle.
“What’s that?” Julia asked.
“The baby’s room.”
“And the orange?”
“His light. So he’s not alone in the dark.”
Julia had to look away before answering.
That evening, Nicholas drank from a bottle in Roman’s arms. A nurse adjusted his grip without asking whether he minded being corrected.
He was grateful enough to nearly cry.
“You’ll get used to it,” she said.
“He shouldn’t have had to wait for me.”
“He needs you here now.”
Roman looked down as Nicholas’s hand opened against his shirt.
For years, people had placed things in his hands because they feared what would happen if they didn’t.
This child placed a hand there because he needed somewhere safe.
Roman stayed until the room grew dark.
At 9:12, Dean called.
“There’s another problem.”
“Tell me.”
“Charles’s office sent a household archive for deletion yesterday. Old call records, staff messages, accident correspondence.”
Roman looked at Nicholas.
“What accident?”
Dean didn’t answer immediately.
He didn’t have to.
May you like
Roman could already hear the number that had haunted him since the night Claire died.
Nineteen minutes.
