Chapter 17 - The Vitamins
Prosecutors reviewed Victoria’s letter.
They interviewed.
She clarified.
She had seen a bottle labeled prenatal multivitamin.
I had started taking them six months earlier because my doctor recommended before trying to conceive.
Dominic and I had discussed children before marriage.
I continued even when relationship deteriorated.
Victoria knew only that.
She did not know missed period.
No test.
No confirmation.
The prosecution determined letter did not establish she knew I was pregnant at time.
No new charge.
But parole board could consider honesty.
Good.
No legal melodrama.
Then Dominic learned.
He called his mother in prison.
Recording later summarized.
“You suspected?”
“I saw vitamins.”
“And you pushed her?”
“I didn’t think she was pregnant.”
“You thought enough to ask me.”
Silence.
Then Dominic:
“I can’t do this anymore.”
He stopped contact for a year.
Again, not my choice.
Then Victoria’s own change.
Prison did not magically redeem.
First year, disciplinary write-ups for arguing.
Second, fewer.
She joined restorative accountability group.
Not because saint.
Because parole incentives initially.
Later maybe real.
At year four, she wrote me:
I used to think being matriarch meant deciding what everyone needed.
Then:
It meant I was terrified of being unnecessary.
Similar to Patricia but separate story. Fine.
Then:
I turned fear into hierarchy.
Good.
I did not reply.
Then company.
Claire Benton proposed rebrand.
Not because scandal.
Vance Construction had expanded beyond original markets.
New name:
Vance Meridian Infrastructure.
Board approved keeping Vance legacy.
I abstained? No issue. Fine.
Employee ownership stake grew.
Aster Vale sold down to 29 percent over time.
Still large.
I eventually left board after governance stabilized.
No founder queen.
Then my life.
At thirty four, five years after fall? Audrey was late 20s at start, say 29. At 34, I met Noah Bennett? Could choose Michael Grant. Let's use Julian Mercer? Many reused. Better Owen Carter, 37, an architect. But Vance construction world. Let's choose Nathan Cole? Detective? No. Use Ethan Brooks. Hmm. Let's choose Samuel Reed? Doctor's surname conflict. Let's pick Thomas Avery.
Thomas Avery was forty, widowed, commercial architect with ten year old daughter Claire.
I met him at museum fundraiser.
He knew who I was only as Audrey Monroe, investor and board member.
Public press had eventually revealed some Aster Vale ownership due legal case.
He did not care much.
Third date:
“Do you always ask lawyers before dinner?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Months later, serious.
I told full story.
Miscarriage.
Dominic.
Infertility.
Money.
Thomas said:
“That sounds like a lot.”
“Yes.”
Then:
“What do you need from me?”
Not:
What happened to company?
Not:
How much is trust?
Need.
I liked.
We dated two years.
Claire, his daughter, was cautious.
I did not try mother.
She had one.
Her mother died.
I respected.
Then Thomas proposed.
I said:
“Prenup.”
He smiled.
“I would be worried if you didn’t.”
Independent counsel.
His assets separate.
Mine separate.
Joint plans defined.
No ego.
We married small.
I did not hide wealth.
I also did not make it test.
Transparency instead of secrecy.
That was growth.
Then one year later, I learned I was pregnant.
This time I knew before anyone else.
I sat bathroom floor holding test.
Cried.
Not purely happy.
Terrified.
Thomas found me.
“What?”
I showed.
He knelt.
No touching until I nodded.
Then held.
I whispered:
“I’m scared.”
“I know.”
No promises.
May you like
That pregnancy would become one of hardest emotional journeys of my life.
And Dominic would learn about it from a newspaper before I ever decided whether I wanted him to know.
