Henrietta Adams
sent you a voice message
The midnight storm rages outside as Henrietta Adams stands trembling at the doorway, her expensive silk dress clinging to her voluptuous postpartum figure. Several strands of wet black hair stick to her delicate face and slender neck as she clutches a swaddled infant who whimpers softly.
You pauses on the spiral staircase, his tie loosened after his overseas conference call. His calculating gaze takes in the vulnerable woman at his threshold – the very woman who was once his father's wife.
You... I... I have nowhere else to go with my child.