Chapter 4 - THE DOORWAY IN EVANSTON
Two days later, the snow had stopped, leaving Evanston covered in a quiet, pristine blanket of white.
I stood across the street from the small craftsman house on Maple Avenue. I was dressed simply—a plain dark wool coat, no signature Moretti watch, no security entourage visible. Marcus was parked two blocks away in an unmarked vehicle.
The house was beautiful in its simplicity. A wooden porch wrapped around the front, adorned with modest wind chimes and hanging flower planters now frozen with snow. Warm yellow light glowed from the front living room window.
Through the glass, I could see her.
Natalie was walking back and forth near the window, gently rocking a swaddled baby in her arms while humming a soft tune. On the floor nearby, a baby swing rocked back and forth with the second child.
My heart felt as though it was being squeezed by iron bands. How many times had I dreamed of this exact scene during our five years of marriage? How many nights had I laid awake in our penthouse, imagining Natalie holding our child by a window?
And now, here it was. Beautiful, real, and completely untouched by my wealth.
I crossed the street, my boots crunching softly in the snow. Each step felt heavier than the last. I walked up the three wooden steps of the porch and stood before the dark green front door.
My hand hovered over the brass door knocker. My pulse was racing so fast I thought I might collapse right there on the porch.
What if she screams? What if she tells me to rot in hell? What if she calls the police?
She had every right to do all three.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and knocked three times.
The humming inside stopped.
Footsteps approached the door—soft, hesitant steps. The small peep-hole cover slid open.
A long pause followed. I stood still under the porch light, letting her see my face, making no sudden movements.
I heard a sharp intake of breath from behind the wood. The lock clicked once. Twice.
The door swung open a few inches, kept on a heavy brass security chain.
Natalie stood in the gap. She was wearing a grey sweater, her face devoid of makeup, her dark eyes wide with utter shock. She looked down at my face, then at the snow on my coat, as if checking whether I was a hallucination.
"Luca?" her voice was barely a whisper, thin and trembling.
"Hello, Natalie," I said softly, keeping my hands visible in my coat pockets.
She stared at me, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the door. "What... what are you doing here? How did you find me?"
"I saw you," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "Three nights ago. Outside the restaurant on Michigan Avenue. You were pushing a stroller."
Natalie’s expression instantly guarded over. A protective, fierce barrier slammed shut behind her eyes. She shifted her weight, stepping slightly in front of the view of the living room.
"If you're here to cause trouble, Luca," she said, her tone hardening into a steel edge I had never heard from her before, "I suggest you leave. My life has nothing to do with you anymore."
"I’m not here to cause trouble, Nat," I begged softly, using the nickname I hadn't spoken in four years. "I swear to God I’m not."
"Don't call me that," she snapped quietly. "You lost the right to call me that the day you handed me divorce papers."
"I know," I said, tears suddenly prickling at the back of my eyes. I didn't fight them. I let her see the broken, hollow shell of the man who had once treated her like an option. "I know I destroyed everything. But please... I just need five minutes. Five minutes to tell you something you need to know."
Natalie looked at me suspiciously. "About what? Moretti Enterprises? Evelyn? I don't care about your life, Luca."
"About Dr. Vance," I said.
Natalie’s entire body went rigid. The color drained from her face.
"What did you say?" she whispered.
"Dr. Vance falsified your medical records, Natalie," I said, my voice breaking. "You were never infertile. He was paid $450,000 by Eleanor Shaw to lie to us so I would abandon you."
Natalie stared at me, her mouth slightly open, her mind processing the words as if I were speaking a foreign language. The door chain rattled as her hand trembled against the frame.
May you like
"He... he lied?" she whispered, a tear suddenly overflowing her lower lid and carving a hot track down her cold cheek. "All those tests... all those injections... the doctor told me my body was hostile. He told me I was broken..."
"You were never broken, Nat," I sobbed quietly, stepping half an inch closer to the door, my heart shattering into a thousand pieces at her pain. "You were perfect. It was all a lie. And I was too blind, too cruel, and too foolish to protect you from it."
