Chapter 10 One Hour
I can't move.
My body has turned to stone. My feet are rooted to the floor. My brain is screaming at me to do something... anything, but I'm frozen in place like a statue.
My phone sits on the bed where I dropped it, the screen dark now.
My mother is in the hospital getting worse by the minute.
The social worker is here, ready to judge whether I'm fit to be Leo's mother.
And I'm standing in the middle of this guest room wearing a stranger's ring, completely paralyzed by the impossible choice in front of me.
Move. I need to move.
But which direction?
Run to the hospital and lose everything? Lose the arrangement, lose the money, lose any chance of saving my mother anyway because without the two million dollars, the treatment stops and she dies?
Or stay here and abandon my mother when she needs me most? Leave her alone in that hospital bed while I play pretend wife for a social worker who's going to ask me questions I don't know how to answer?
There's no good answer.
No right choice.
Just two horrible options and seconds to decide between them.
My hands are shaking so badly I can barely think.
Call Caius. I need to call Caius.
The thought pushes its way to the front of my mind.
I grab my phone with trembling fingers, pull up his contact and hit call before I can second-guess myself.
It rings once.
Twice.
Three times.
God. Why isn't he answering? Where is he?
"Pick up," I whisper desperately into the empty room. "Please, please pick up."
But before the fourth ring, the door to my room flies open.
I jump, my phone nearly slipping from my hands.
Caius stands there, slightly out of breath. Like he ran to get here.
"She's here," he says. "Catherine Gerald just arrived. She's early."
His eyes find mine. And something in my expression makes him stop.
"What's wrong?" he asks immediately.
"The hospital called." I rush out. "My mother. She's worse. They said I need to come now. They said..." My voice cracks. "They said soon. They used the word soon and that means—"
"I know what it means," he says quietly.
Of course he does.
He's not stupid. He knows that when hospitals tell you to come soon, they mean your person might not have much time left.
His face is grim now.
"But Catherine is here," I continue. "She's early and she's waiting and I don't know what to do. I don't know how to be in two places at once. I don't know—"
"Slow down." His voice is calm, as he walks closer. "Take a breath."
I try. I really do. But the air won't come.
"I have to choose," I say, and now I'm crying, tears streaming down my face. "I have to choose between being here for Leo or being there for my mother and I can't. I can't make that choice. I can't—"
My words are interrupted by his mother's voice calling from downstairs.
"Caius!" She yells loud. " Caius, she's here! We need Lia now! Where is she?!"
Oh God.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
"I'm coming," I shout back so she will hear.
Caius is still watching me, with sympathy.
"Lia, listen to me." Caius says. "It won't be long."
I blink, confused.
"What?" I manage to ask. "What won't be long?"
"The home visit," he explains patiently. "It's usually forty-five minutes to an hour. That's standard protocol for initial home visits."
Forty-five minutes to an hour.
My mother could be dying in forty-five minutes.
"I don't understand," I whisper. My voice is trembling. "What are you saying?"
"Here's what's going to happen," he says simply. "You stay. We do the meeting with Catherine. We answer her questions, we show her the house, we let her see Leo. Forty-five minutes, maybe an hour at most."
He pauses, making sure I'm following.
"And then," he continues, "the second she walks out that door, you go straight to the hospital. I'll have a car waiting. You'll be there in thirty minutes."
I stare at him.
He's asking me to wait.
To put my mother on hold for an hour while I play pretend.
"But my mother is dying," I mutter.
"She will still be there in an hour," he says gently. "You said they told you to come soon. Not immediately. Not right this second. But soon."
He's right.
I hate that he's right, but he is.
If it were truly an emergency, if she were dying right this second, they would have said so. They would have told me to come immediately. To come now.
But they said soon.
Which means I have some time.
Just not very much.
"One hour, Lia," Caius says quietly. "Can you hold it together for one hour?"
Can I?
I honestly don't know.
I don't know if I can sit in a room making polite conversation and smiling and pretending to be happily married while my mother is in a hospital bed across town, maybe dying, definitely scared, probably asking for me.
I don't know if I can lie that convincingly while my heart is breaking.
"I don't think I can do this," I whisper. I can feel tears building behind my eyes again. "I'm sorry. I'm already falling apart. Look at me." I gesture at my face, at my red eyes and blotchy skin. "What if Catherine notices? What if she asks why I've been crying? What if I say something wrong because I'm not thinking straight? What if—"
"Lia." He says my name firmly, cutting off my words. "I'll help you."
I look up at him.
"I'll watch you during the meeting," he continues. "If you're struggling, if you need a moment, I'll redirect the conversation. I'll cover for you. We'll get through this together."
Together.
The word makes me feel better somehow.
At least it feels good to know I'm not alone in this. Not completely.
"Okay," I breathe out. "Okay. One hour. I can do one hour."
I can do anything for one hour if it means saving my mother's life.
"Good." He nods once. "Meet me downstairs in two minutes. Take thirty seconds right now, splash cold water on your face. Take some deep breaths. Pull yourself together as much as you can."
Then he does something unexpected.
He reaches out and squeezes my shoulders.
"Two minutes," he says again. Then he's gone, leaving me alone in the room.
I stand there for a moment, staring at the closed door.
Tears are still wet on my cheeks, my hands still shaking.
One hour.
Sixty minutes.
And then I can go to her. Then I can be with my mother.
I just have to survive this meeting first.
I stumble into the bathroom. Splash cold water on my face like he suggested. The shock of it helps a little. Clears some of the fog.
I look at myself in the mirror.
Red eyes. Blotchy skin. Running mascara.
I look like someone whose mother is dying.
Not someone who's happily married to a billionaire CEO and excited to be evaluated as a potential mother to a traumatized four-year-old.
I grab a tissue and start trying to repair the damage.
Blot my eyes carefully. Wipe away the mascara streaks. Try to make myself look less like I've been sobbing and more like I've just been... emotional. Overwhelmed. Happy-overwhelmed, not tragedy-overwhelmed.
There's not much I can do about the redness. That's going to take time to fade.
But at least I can clean up the obvious evidence of crying.
I take deep breaths, reassuring myself I can do it.
I check my reflection one more time. It's still not great, but at least it's better and more presentable.
Then I walk out of the bathroom and eventually, out of the room and into the hallway.
Caius is waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
He looks up when he hears me on the stairs and our eyes meet.
"You okay?" he asks quietly.
"No," I say honestly. "But I'll manage."
He nods. "She's in the lobby. Security called up. I told them to have her wait five minutes." He glances at his watch. "That gives us three more minutes to prepare."
Three minutes.
"She's here. Is there anything else that I need to know?" I ask. "Anything new we haven't already gone over?"
"She'll want to see the house," Caius says. "See where Leo sleeps. Where we sleep."
My stomach drops.
"Where we sleep," I repeat slowly. "You mean..."
"That's been taken care of," he says quickly. "The master bedroom has been prepared. Your things have been moved in. Your clothes are in the closet, your books on the nightstand. It looks like we share the room."
Oh.
Right.
Of course he thought of that.
"Okay," I manage to say.
He watches me carefully. "Are you ready for this?"
No.
Not even remotely ready.
But I nod anyway. "Yes."
It's a lie and we both know it.
But it's the lie we need right now.
Caius pulls out his phone. Sends a quick text, and thirty seconds later, the door opens.
Catherine Gerald steps into the penthouse.
She's younger than I expected. Maybe mid-thirties, looking extremely professional and put-together.
She looks nice.
Normal.
Like someone you'd have coffee with and make small talks.
Not like someone who holds my entire future in her hands.
"Mr. and Mrs. Michael," she says warmly, walking toward us with an easy smile. "I apologize for arriving early. Traffic was much lighter than I anticipated.
"Not a problem at all," Caius says smoothly. "We're just happy you're here. And please, call me Caius."
"Of course, Caius," Catherine says. She turns to me, and her smile softens. "And you must be Mrs. Michael."
"Yes." I force myself to smile. "It's so nice to meet you."
We shake hands.
And then her eyes do a quick scan of my face.
To my red-rimmed eyes.
"Are you alright, Mrs. Michael?"
This is it.
I take a shaky breath and let a small, embarrassed laugh escape my mouth.
"I'm fine," I say. "I'm sorry. I'm just... this is all so overwhelming. In a good way," I add quickly. "I'm just emotional."
It's not technically a lie.
I am overwhelmed. I am emotional.
I'm just emotional about my dying mother, not about this home visit.
But Catherine doesn't need to know that.
She nods understandingly. "Of course. This is a big day. A big step."
You have no idea, I think.
"Please," Caius gestures toward the expensive couches and chairs arranged perfectly for conversation. "Have a seat. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water? Tea?"
"Water would be lovely, thank you," Catherine says.
Caius leaves immediately to get the water.
And suddenly I'm alone with Catherine Gerald.
The woman who will decide if we keep Leo.
The woman who holds my entire future in her hands.
She settles into the chair and pulls out a notebook.
Then she looks at me with kind eyes I'm sure are assessing me.
"So, Mrs. Michael," she says. "Why don't you tell me about yourself?"
My heart skips a beat. The performance begins now.