Chapter 7 - THE SECOND DAUGHTER
Andrew reached the hospital at 12:47 a.m.
Celeste was thirty weeks pregnant.
Too early.
Doctors were concerned about preeclampsia.
Medication started.
Monitoring.
Steroid injections for the baby’s lungs.
Andrew sat in a plastic chair outside her room.
Marcus called.
“Do you want me there?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“This changes nothing legally.”
“I know.”
“But emotionally—”
“I know.”
Andrew ended the call.
For two hours, he watched nurses move in and out.
At three, Celeste asked to see him.
He entered.
She looked smaller somehow.
No perfect hair.
No makeup.
No posture.
Just a frightened pregnant woman beneath hospital blankets.
“You came.”
Andrew sat.
“Yes.”
“You hate me.”
He looked at the monitor.
“No.”
She laughed weakly.
“That’s worse.”
“I’m angry.”
“You should hate me.”
“I don’t know what I feel.”
Celeste turned her face away.
“I’m scared.”
“So am I.”
Her eyes filled.
“Not for me.”
Andrew said nothing.
“The baby.”
“Yes.”
Celeste nodded.
For several minutes, they listened to the fetal monitor.
Then she whispered:
“I never wanted Sophie hungry.”
Andrew looked at her.
“Don’t.”
“I need you to know—”
“Not tonight.”
“I thought if I controlled things—”
“You did control them.”
“I lost control.”
“No.”
His voice stayed quiet.
“You planned.”
Celeste cried.
Andrew continued.
“You wrote charts.”
“I know.”
“You documented her taking food.”
“I know.”
“You contacted schools.”
“I know.”
“You made her believe I wanted her gone.”
Celeste closed her eyes.
“I know.”
Andrew leaned back.
“You don’t get to make it smaller now because you’re scared.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“I was jealous.”
He said nothing.
“Of a child.”
Nothing.
“Of Hannah.”
Andrew looked at her.
“She was dead and I was still jealous.”
Her face broke.
“I hated that Sophie could say her name and you softened.”
Andrew swallowed.
“I hated that your mother loved her.”
“Loved Hannah?”
“Yes.”
“My mother liked you.”
“She loved Hannah.”
“That wasn’t Sophie’s fault.”
“I know.”
“You wanted Sophie to stop keeping Hannah alive.”
Celeste cried harder.
“I thought if the house changed, I would finally belong.”
Andrew stared.
“And did you?”
“No.”
Silence.
She put both hands over her face.
“I kept making the house emptier.”
Andrew looked toward the window.
That was the closest she had come to understanding it.
But understanding did not erase harm.
“Celeste.”
She lowered her hands.
“When this baby is born, I will be her father.”
Celeste nodded.
“I will not try to punish you through her.”
More tears.
“But you will not use her to reach Sophie.”
Celeste closed her eyes.
“I understand.”
“No statements. No messages about being a family again. No telling Sophie the baby needs her forgiveness.”
“I understand.”
“She is not responsible for your guilt.”
“I know.”
Andrew’s phone buzzed.
Eleanor.
Sophie is awake. Wants to know if baby is okay.
Andrew stood.
“I need to call my daughter.”
Celeste looked at him.
“Tell her…”
Andrew waited.
Celeste’s voice broke.
“Tell her I’m sorry.”
He shook his head.
Her face fell.
“Why?”
“Because that apology is yours to make if she chooses to hear it.”
Celeste cried silently.
Andrew stepped into the hall and called home.
Sophie answered immediately.
“Dad?”
“I’m here.”
“Baby okay?”
“So far.”
“Is she coming out?”
“Hopefully not yet.”
“Can babies hear?”
“Some sounds.”
Sophie thought.
“Can you tell her to stay?”
Andrew smiled despite everything.
“I’ll pass it along.”
“And tell her I bought socks.”
“I will.”
“Are you coming home?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
Silence.
Andrew heard the old fear immediately.
He corrected himself.
“I will call you at six. If I’m still here, Grandma will bring you breakfast and I’ll video-call.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“At six?”
“At six.”
“Okay.”
At exactly six, Andrew called.
He was still at the hospital.
Sophie ate cereal on camera.
She showed him the yellow socks.
By nine, Celeste stabilized.
The baby stayed inside.
For five more weeks.
During that time, Andrew lived by a strange rhythm.
Home.
Hospital appointments.
Work by video.
Therapy pickups.
Court meetings.
Breakfast.
Dinner.
He discovered his company did not collapse when he missed an investor lunch.
Nobody died when he delegated an acquisition review.
The world did not punish him for being home Thursday evening.
Sophie noticed.
One night she asked:
“Are you fired?”
Andrew laughed.
“No.”
“Because you’re home a lot.”
“I own the company.”
“So you can’t get fired?”
“My board would enjoy hearing that.”
She grinned.
Then:
“Do you like being home?”
The question stopped him.
“Yes.”
“More than before?”
“I didn’t know how much before.”
She accepted that.
At thirty-five weeks, the doctors recommended delivery.
Andrew was present.
Celeste’s mother was too.
The baby girl arrived at 2:11 p.m.
Five pounds, fourteen ounces.
Loud.
Healthy.
Andrew cried before he could stop himself.
Celeste cried too.
“What do we call her?”
They had once chosen Amelia.
Then abandoned it during the collapse of everything.
Celeste looked at Andrew.
“What about Hannah?”
He stared.
Celeste immediately shook her head.
“No. That was stupid.”
Andrew said nothing.
“I’m sorry.”
He looked at the baby.
Then at Celeste.
“No.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“Hannah belongs to Sophie.”
Celeste nodded.
He thought.
“Claire?”
Celeste whispered it.
“Claire Whitaker.”
Andrew smiled faintly.
“Claire.”
That evening, he video-called Sophie.
She appeared before the first ring had fully ended.
“Is she here?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
Andrew turned the camera.
Claire slept beneath a striped hospital blanket.
Sophie gasped.
“She’s tiny.”
“Yes.”
“Does she have hair?”
“A little.”
“Can she wear the socks?”
“Probably.”
“Does she know I’m her sister?”
“Not yet.”
Sophie frowned.
“When will she know?”
Andrew smiled.
“You’ll teach her.”
The next day, Sophie came to the hospital with Eleanor.
She carried a small gift bag.
At the room door, she stopped.
Celeste was inside.
Sophie’s hand tightened around Eleanor’s.
Andrew walked into the hallway.
“You don’t have to go in.”
Sophie looked toward the room.
“I want to see Claire.”
“We can bring Claire to the family room.”
Sophie thought.
Then shook her head.
“I can go in.”
Andrew studied her.
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
They entered.
Celeste looked terrified.
Not of Andrew.
Of Sophie.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Sophie walked to the bassinet.
“That’s her?”
Andrew smiled.
“That’s her.”
Sophie washed her hands without being asked.
Twice.
Then reached one finger toward Claire’s fist.
The baby grabbed it.
Sophie’s entire face changed.
“She likes me.”
Andrew’s throat tightened.
“She has excellent judgment.”
Sophie opened the gift bag.
Yellow socks.
And something else.
A tiny framed photograph.
Hannah holding Sophie as a baby.
Andrew stared.
“Sophie?”
She looked at Celeste.
“I thought Claire should know what my mom looked like too.”
The room went completely silent.
Celeste’s face crumpled.
“Why?”
Sophie shrugged.
“She’s my sister.”
Andrew couldn’t speak.
Sophie continued.
“So Hannah is part of how she got me.”
Eight-year-old logic.
Impossible to argue with.
Celeste began crying.
Sophie looked uncomfortable.
“I’m not trying to make you sad.”
“I know.”
Celeste wiped her face.
“Sophie, I’m sorry.”
Andrew looked at his daughter.
He did not intervene.
Celeste continued.
“I made you feel like your mother had to disappear for me to belong.”
Sophie stared.
“I was wrong.”
Silence.
“I hurt you.”
Sophie nodded.
“Yes.”
“I should never have taken food.”
“Yes.”
“I should never have told you your dad wanted you to forget your mom.”
Sophie’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
Celeste’s voice shook.
“And I should never have made you think the baby needed your place.”
Sophie looked at Claire.
Then whispered:
“I didn’t hate her.”
“I know.”
“I was scared she’d get everything.”
Celeste covered her mouth.
Sophie looked at Andrew.
“Can I hold Claire?”
He helped her sit.
Placed the baby carefully in her arms.
Sophie looked down.
Claire yawned.
Sophie smiled.
“Hi.”
Then she whispered:
“You can have food whenever you want at Dad’s house.”
May you like
Andrew had to turn away.
Because he couldn’t let either daughter see how hard that sentence broke him.
