Chapter 3 - THE RETURNED BABY SHOES
Dylan did not know he was being manipulated.
That was the truth he would struggle hardest to forgive.
Not because manipulation excused his behavior.
It didn’t.
He had chosen distrust.
He had chosen pride.
He had chosen silence.
Victoria simply placed weapons in his hands.
Dylan used them himself.
In September, he received another anonymous message.
A photograph of Olivia leaving a restaurant beside Dr. Nathan Brooks, a pediatric surgeon and longtime Carter Foundation volunteer.
Dylan knew Nathan.
He disliked him immediately.
The image showed Nathan placing one hand at Olivia’s back as she stepped off the curb.
Nothing romantic.
But jealousy completed the story Dylan already believed.
Victoria did not mention the photograph.
She merely asked during dinner:
“Have you heard anything about Olivia?”
“No.”
“I saw Nathan Brooks at the museum gala.”
Dylan’s fork stopped.
“So?”
“Nothing.”
Again, nothing meant everything.
Dylan began dating casually.
He hated every evening.
He drank too much.
Worked too late.
And refused to drive past Olivia’s neighborhood.
On October 18, his assistant entered his office holding a small parcel.
“This was mistakenly delivered to your mother’s house and forwarded here.”
The package was addressed in Olivia’s handwriting.
Dylan stared at it.
“When did it arrive?”
“Original postmark says September second.”
Six weeks earlier.
He opened it.
Inside were two tiny blue shoes.
And a note.
Dylan,
I know you don’t believe me.
Maybe someday you will.
These are for your son.
I’m not asking you to love me.
I’m asking you not to punish him for something I never did.
Olivia.
Dylan sat motionless.
His assistant quietly closed the office door.
That night he drove to Olivia’s street.
Her living room lights were on.
He parked across the road.
Through the curtains, he saw her silhouette.
Pregnant.
Very pregnant.
She stood near the window with one hand supporting her back.
Dylan nearly got out.
Then a car stopped.
Nathan Brooks emerged carrying grocery bags.
Dylan’s jaw tightened.
Nathan entered Olivia’s house with a key.
Dylan drove away.
Had he waited ten minutes, he would have seen Margaret Sloan arrive.
Had he waited fifteen, he would have seen Nathan leave.
Had he asked one question, he would have learned that Nathan was married, had two children, and was delivering groceries because Olivia had been placed on restricted activity after early contractions.
But Dylan asked nothing.
At Victoria’s house that evening, he dropped the baby shoes on the table.
“She sent these.”
Victoria looked at them.
Her expression barely shifted.
“You opened the package?”
“Yes.”
“That seems unwise.”
“Why?”
“Because she wants a reaction.”
Dylan stared at her.
“She says he’s my son.”
“Of course she does.”
He looked up.
Something in Victoria’s tone bothered him.
“You sound very certain.”
Victoria met his gaze.
“I watched your father destroy himself over a woman once.”
Dylan frowned.
“What woman?”
Victoria’s expression changed instantly.
“No one.”
“You’ve never told me that.”
“It was before you were old enough to remember.”
Dylan stared at her.
His father, Charles Hayes, had died when Dylan was nine.
Dylan remembered him as reserved, gentle, and constantly tired.
“What happened?”
“Nothing worth discussing.”
Victoria picked up the shoes.
Dylan took them back.
“I’ll keep these.”
For the first time, Victoria lost control of her expression.
Only for a fraction of a second.
But Dylan noticed.
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
She recovered.
“I care about you.”
Dylan slipped the shoes into his coat pocket.
“I’m going home.”
Victoria watched him leave.
Then immediately called someone.
“It’s becoming unstable.”
A man’s voice answered.
“What do you want done?”
Victoria stared through the dining room window.
“Move the delivery timeline.”
The man paused.
“She’s not due until January.”
“I know.”
“So what are you asking?”
May you like
Victoria’s voice was cold.
“Make sure Dylan is out of the country when the child arrives.”
