Chapter 3 - The Collision
"Clara," David choked out.
She didn't scream. She didn't cry. The instinct of a mother living on the streets took over. She turned and sprinted down the hallway toward the communal living quarters.
David ran after her, ignoring the receptionist's shouts. "Clara, wait! Please!"
He caught the heavy wooden door just as she tried to slam it shut. He pushed his way into a small, cramped room that smelled of bleach and damp cotton. In the corner, sleeping in a single rusted crib, were his children.
Clara backed against the crib, throwing her arms wide to shield them from him. Her eyes were wild, feral, and utterly terrified.
"Don't touch them!" she hissed, her voice ragged. "You took everything else! You are not taking them!"
David stopped in his tracks. The sight of her—too thin, her collarbones jutting against her faded shirt, her beautiful eyes shadowed with severe exhaustion—broke the final pillar of his pride.
The wealthy, ruthless CEO collapsed. David fell to his knees on the dirty linoleum floor.
"I know," he sobbed, the tears he had held back for a year finally breaking free. "I know everything. I know about the actor. I know about the brooch. I know Chloe paid the hospital to hide your records. I know, Clara. I am so sorry. God, I am so sorry."
Clara stared down at him, her chest heaving. For a long time, the only sound in the room was the gentle breathing of the twins and David's weeping.
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"You didn't let me speak," Clara whispered, a tear finally sliding down her hollow cheek. "You looked at me with so much hatred, David. You threw me away."
"And I will spend the rest of my life paying for it," he vowed, looking up at her. "Let me get you out of here. Let me protect them. You never have to look at me again if you don't want to, but please... let me put my children in a safe bed."
