Chapter Winetosp
Chapter It In the hospital
Mia’s POV
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Catherine’s car was exactly what I expected – a sleek silver Mercedes with butter soft leather seats and that particular new rat smell that spoke of luxury and privilege. She opened the passenget foor for me, then waited patiently as I martelvered my pregnant bulk into the seat.
“Comfortable?” she asked once I was settled.
“Very,” I confirmed. The seat seemed to mold itself to my body, supporting my back in exactly the right places. “This car is incredible.”
“One of the perks of getting older,” she smiled, sliding into the driver’s seat with effortless grace. “You stop feeling guilty abent indulging in comforts.”
She drove with the same precise competence Kyle had inherited, navigating through morning traffic with calm efficiency. noticed she took a slightly longer route than necessary, avoiding the bumpy section of Riverside Drive that always aggravated my back.
“You know the area well,” I commented as she smoothly changed lanes to avoid a delivery truck.
“I’ve lived in this city for forty years,” she replied. “You learn the shortcuts–and the roads to avoid.”
“I guess you do,” I murmured, watching the familiar landscape pass by.
We rode in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the car’s excellent sound system playing something classical at low volume. found myself relaxing into the seat, the anxiety about the appointment receding slightly.
“Mia,” Catherine said suddenly, her voice so soft I almost missed it. “I want you to know that I don’t blame you. For the divorce.
I turned to look at her, surprised by the abrupt change in topic. Her profile was calm, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
“I know my son can be… difficult,” she continued when I didn’t respond. “He takes after his father in many ways, not all of them good.”
Coming from anyone else, this might have sounded like criticism. But there was Catherine. For a moment, my throat tightened. “Kyle is… complicated,” I said finally, choosing my words carefully. I didn’t want to badmouth her son, despite everything.
“I know what kind of person he is. I’m sorry that he didn’t take good care of you.” she smiled faintly. “A bad marriage dries up a woman.”
Catherine’s expression was bitter. I couldn’t help wondering what her marriage was like. Kyle never shared that with me. And Kyle’s father. He was rarely discussed, even during my marriage. A heart attack had taken him before I entered the picture, and Kyle spoke of him primarily in terms of business legacies and expectations.
“Do you mind if I ask you something personal?” The words tumbled out before I could reconsider.
“Ask away,” Catherine replied, smoothly navigating a yellow light.
“Were you happy? I mean, your marriage.”
Her hands tightened almost imperceptibly on the steering wheel, then relaxed. “Happiness is a complicated metric for marriage,” she said carefully, “We had good years. Difficult years. Like most couples.”
It wasn’t really an answer, but something in her tone suggested I shouldn’t push further. She saved me from awkward follow–up by smoothly changing the subject.
“Tell me about Paris,” she said, genuine interest warming her voice. “Kyle mentioned you’re going with Scarlett?”
“Next week,” I confirmed, allowing the redirect. “Just for two weeks. Scarlett’s husband has business there, and I have some
Chapter III in the hospitat
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professional connections to explore,”
“Architecture firms?” Catherine guessed correctly. “Your talent should be recognized internationally. The children’s center designs were remarkable.”
I blinked, surprised she knew about my project. “You’ve seen them?”
“Of course,” she nodded. “Kyle showed me the plans months ago. He was quite impressed, though I doubt he said as much to you directly.”
The revelation that Kyle had shown my work to his mother and with apparent pride–sent an unexpected warmth through my chest. I pushed it away quickly. Kyle’s retroactive approval meant nothing now.
“The center opens next month,” I said, focusing on facts rather than feelings. “After I get back from Paris.”
“I’d love to attend the opening, if that wouldn’t be uncomfortable for you,” Catherine said, surprising me again.
“I’d like that,” I replied honestly. Whatever had happened between Kyle and me, Catherine had always been kind. And the center was my professional achievement, separate from the messy tangle of my personal life.
We pulled into the hospital’s drop–off area, bypassing the crowded parking garage entirely. Catherine handed her keys to the valet with a generous tip and explicit instructions about handling her car.
“Ready?” she asked, offering her arm for support as I climbed out.
I nodded, suddenly nervous again. The hospital’s familiar façade loomed before us, all glass and steel and institutional purpose Catherine must have sensed my anxiety because she patted my hand reassuringly.
“Everything will be fine,” she said with quiet certainty. “These babies are fighters, just like their mother.”
The unexpected compliment warmed me. We made our way through the main entrance and up to the obstetrics floor, Catherine matching her pace to my awkward waddle.
Dr. Matthews‘ waiting room was busier than usual, filled with women in various stages of pregnancy. Several looked up as we entered, their expressions shifting from casual interest to recognition. I heard whispers behind discreetly raised hands.
“Is that Mia Williams? Kyle Branson’s ex?” “Who’s the older woman with her?” “His mother, I think. I saw her in Town & Country last month.”
Catherine ignored them completely, guiding me to the reception desk with perfect poise. The receptionist–Janine, who’d been handling Dr. Matthews‘ front office for years–greeted me with a warm smile.
“Mia, good to see you. Dr. Matthews is running about ten minutes behind, but we’ll get you in as soon as possible.” Her eyes flickered to Catherine curiously.
“This is Catherine Branson,” I explained, watching Janine’s eyes widen slightly. “She’ll be joining me today.”
“Of course,” Janine recovered quickly, professional mask sliding back into place. “I’ll update your file. Please have a seat, and we’ll call you when the doctor’s ready.”
We found two empty chairs in the corner, slightly removed from the curious stares. Catherine sat with perfect posture, apparently unbothered by the attention. I envied her composure—being the subject of gossip still made my skin crawl.
“Ignore them,” she said quietly, noticing my discomfort. “People will always talk. It’s what they do when their own lives lack sufficient drama.”
I couldn’t help but smile at the elegant shade she’d just thrown at the entire waiting room. “You sound like Scarlett.” “Scarlett Morton?” Catherine replied. “I heard her name before.”
I can’t help laughing. Try to imagine what Scarlett’s reputation is like.My laugh drew more stares, which I found easier to ignore with Catherine beside me. She had a steadying presence, a quiet dignity that seemed to create a protective bubble around us.
Chapter III In the hospitar-
“Mia Williams?” A nurse appeared at the inner door, clipboard in hand.
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“That’s us,” I said, struggling to my feet. Catherine rose gracefully beside me, offering subtle support as we followed the nurse through the door.
The exam proceeded with standard efficiency–weight check (1 tried not to wince at the number), blood pressure (slightly elevated but within normal range), urine sample (always the most awkward part). Through it all, Catherine waited patiently,
never intrusive but steadily present. 1
Finally, we were shown to an exam room where an ultrasound machine hummed quietly in the corner.
“Dr. Matthews will be with you shortly,” the nurse said, closing the door behind her.
I eased myself onto the exam table, adjusting my paper gown with as much dignity as possible. Catherine took the chair beside me, her expression serene but expectant.
“Nervous?” she asked.
“A little,” I admitted. “These big scans always make me anxious.”
“That’s natural,” she assured me. “I was a wreck before Kyle’s anatomy scan. Convinced they’d find something terribly wrong.”
“And did they?”
She smiled. “Nothing except a stubborn streak already visible in the way he kept turning away from the ultrasound wand. The technician made me walk up and down the hallway twice to get him to move into position.”
The mental image of a pregnant Catherine pacing hospital corridors to coax her unborn son into cooperation made me smile. Sounds familiar. These two are just as stubborn.”
“Twins run in the Branson family, you know,” she said conversationally. “My mother was a twin. Identical girls.”
“Kyle mentioned that his grandmother had a twin sister,” I said, remembering our conversation in the car. “I guess that explains why I’m carrying twins twice.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them. Catherine’s expression shifted,
“Twice?” she echoed quietly.
A knot formed in my throat. I hadn’t meant to mention my first pregnancy, but now the truth hung between us, impossible to
take back.
“Yes,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “My first pregnancy was twins too.”
Catherine’s face softened with understanding. “The miscarriage,” she said, not a question but a gentle acknowledgment.
“It wasn’t exactly a miscarriage,” I found myself saying, the words tumbling out as if a dam had broken. “Taylor pushed me down the stairs. At the mansion.”
Catherine’s intake of breath was sharp, her elegant hands suddenly gripping the armrests of her chair. “What did you say?”
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