Chapter 2 of The Fourth Heartbeat

The smell of burnt toast and brewing coffee dragged me out of bed.

I walked down the stairs, tying my silk robe tight against the morning chill. Voices echoed from the kitchen.

"He needs to hold the bat higher," Michael was saying.

"He's barely strong enough to lift it," Grace replied.

I pushed the swinging door open.

A brand-new plastic baseball set covered the kitchen island. Bright red bats, oversized white balls, and a leather mitt still bearing the price tag.

Michael stood by the stove, flipping pancakes. He wore a casual gray sweater, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

Leo sat on a stool, chewing on a piece of bacon.

"Good morning," Grace said. She sat at my dining table, sipping from my favorite ceramic mug.

I ignored her. "You went shopping already?"

"There's a twenty-four-hour sporting goods store off the interstate," Michael answered. He slid a pancake onto a plate and set it in front of the boy. "Eat up, buddy. We have a big day."

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Batting cages," Michael said.

"It's twenty degrees outside."

"The cages are indoors, Anna." He turned his back to me, scraping the skillet with a spatula. "Then we're hitting the toy store downtown."

I walked over to the island. I picked up the small leather mitt. The material felt stiff, untouched.

"You hate baseball," I said.

"I never hated it."

"You complained every time my father put a game on the television."

"That was professional baseball. This is different."

"How?"

Michael finally looked at me. His eyes were hard, entirely devoid of the warmth he had just shown the boy.

"He's my son," Michael stated. "I'm going to teach him how to play."

I dropped the mitt. It knocked against a plastic bat.

"You used to talk about baseball," I whispered.

"Don't do this, Anna."

"You used to lay your head on my stomach," I pressed. I took a step closer to him. "Right after we got married. Do you remember?"

Michael stiffened. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking near his ear.

"Stop," he warned.

"You said if we had a boy, we would name him Theo," I continued. My voice didn't waver. "You said you would buy him a left-handed glove and teach him how to pitch in the backyard."

Grace shifted in her chair. The wooden legs scraped against the tile. "Maybe I should take Leo into the living room."

"Sit down, Grace," Michael ordered. He glared at me. "That was a lifetime ago."

"It was before Thomas," I corrected him. "Before the other two."

"I know exactly when it was."

"After the third miscarriage, you stopped talking about children entirely. You stopped bringing up names."

"Because it was pointless."

"You stopped touching me," I shot back. "You turned your grief into a weapon. You punished me for failing."

"I didn't punish you. I accepted reality." Michael tossed the spatula into the sink. It landed with a loud metallic clatter. "My reality changed last night."

"So Theo is just gone? All those promises, just erased?"

"Theo was a fantasy," Michael said. He gestured to the boy eating pancakes. "Leo is real."

He walked over to the stool. He hoisted the boy up by his waist, lifting him high into the air.

Leo giggled, grabbing two fistfuls of Michael's hair.

Michael laughed. The sound was bright, unburdened, and entirely foreign to me.

"You're getting heavy, kid," Michael teased.

"I ate three pancakes!" Leo cheered.

"I can tell." Michael settled the boy onto his hip. He looked at Grace, his expression softening completely. "Being a father feels natural."

The words struck me dead in the chest. A sharp, suffocating blow.

He didn't even glance my way as he carried his son out of the kitchen.

"Get your coat, Grace," Michael called from the hallway. "We're leaving in five."

Grace stood. She offered me a fleeting, pitying look. "I'm sorry, Anna."

"Don't speak to me," I told her.

She hurried out.

The front door opened, letting in a blast of freezing wind, and then slammed shut.

Silence swallowed the house.

I remained alone in the kitchen for a long time. I focused on the plastic baseball bats on the counter.

Then, I walked to the wall phone. I punched in the number for my obstetrician's clinic.

"Dr. Evans' office, how can I help you?" the receptionist answered.

"This is Anna Sterling. I need to update my appointment for next Tuesday."

"Of course, Mrs. Sterling. I have you down for a ten o'clock ultrasound. Will your husband be joining you?"

"No."

"Oh. I'll just remove his name from the visitor pass, then."

"Cancel his authorization entirely," I instructed. I gripped the coiled phone cord. "I am coming alone."

"Just you?"

"Just me. If Michael calls to confirm the time, tell him the appointment was canceled. Tell him nothing else."

"I understand, Mrs. Sterling. I'll update your file."

I hung up the receiver.

My hands were shaking. I forced them flat against the cold marble counter to steady myself.

*Being a father feels natural.*

I turned away from the kitchen and marched down the hall. I entered Michael's private study.

The room smelled of cedar and expensive cologne. I sat behind his heavy mahogany desk and pulled his laptop open. I didn't need to guess his password. It was his company's ticker symbol.

I picked up the desk phone and dialed my wealth manager.

"David," I said the moment he answered.

"Anna? Merry Christmas. Is everything alright?"

"I need to liquidate my personal investments."

Papers shuffled on his end of the line. "Which accounts?"

"All of them. Everything I put into the Sterling family fund."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I want my capital pulled out. Today."

"Anna, the markets are closed. It's a holiday."

"I know it’s a holiday, but I want the liquidation orders queued. The moment the bells ring on Monday, I want my capital out."

"We are talking about four million dollars," David argued. His voice pitched higher. "Michael is the primary trustee of that fund. He will receive an automatic alert the moment a withdrawal of that size is initiated."

"Let him get an alert."

"That money is tied up in his new commercial real estate acquisition," David warned. "If you pull your four million, Michael might default on the closing."

"Then he better find another investor." I clicked the browser open and navigated to my private banking portal. "How long until the cash clears into my sole-proprietor account?"

"Three business days. Maybe four, given the holiday weekend."

"Make it three."

"Anna, are you sure about this? Pulling this much liquidity out of the family fund without warning... he will call me. What am I supposed to tell him?"

"Tell him it's my money and I wanted it back."

"Did something happen?"

"Draft the paperwork, David. Call me when it's ready to sign."

I slammed the phone down.

I stared at the glowing laptop screen.

My reflection mirrored my exhaustion in the dark bezel. I looked pale. But my eyes were clear.

I rested one hand over my flat stomach.

I was pregnant with my fourth child.

Michael had his family now. He didn't need mine.

A car engine rumbled in the driveway. The heavy crunch of tires on snow signaled their return.

They were back early.

I quickly closed the laptop.