Not because she was weak.
Because her phone was dead, her stitches burned, and her daughter needed warmth more than she needed pride.
The blizzard swallowed her whole.
Lily’s cries were the only thing keeping her from lying down in the snow.
Then headlights cut through the storm.
A black Bentley rolled to the curb, silent as a shark.
The back door opened before the driver could move.
Her grandfather stepped out.
Dark wool coat. Silver hair untouched by the storm. His cane striking the ice like a judge’s gavel.
“Claire?”
She tried to answer, but her teeth chattered too hard.
His eyes dropped to the baby hidden inside her coat.
Then to her thin shoes.
Then back to the mansion behind her.
His face changed.
Not anger.
Something colder.
“Where is the Mercedes I bought you?”
Claire swallowed.
“Vanessa has it.”
Her grandfather’s jaw locked.
“And the monthly trust payments?”
Claire’s voice broke.
“Mom said we were broke.”
He stared at her for a long moment.
Then he turned to his driver.
“Take us to the police station.”
The driver blinked.
“Sir?”
But her grandfather was already climbing back into the Bentley.
