Chapter 3
Corinne Arden had spent seven years trying to become a mother.
Three rounds of IVF.
Two miscarriages.
One failed embryo transfer.
Then another loss at sixteen weeks.
Lissette had been there for all of it.
Hospital waiting rooms.
Medication deliveries.
The night Corinne called at 2:00 a.m. because she could not walk into the nursery she had already decorated.
Nothing about Corinne’s grief was fake.
That was one reason Lissette tolerated so much from Theodora.
When her mother said:
“Corinne deserved to be first.”
Lissette translated it into:
Corinne has suffered.
When Theodora cried after Lissette announced her pregnancy, she claimed they were happy tears complicated by concern for Corinne.
When she asked Lissette not to make the pregnancy “the center of every family gathering,” Lissette agreed.
When she suggested delaying the baby shower until after birth so Corinne would not have to attend heavily pregnant, Lissette agreed.
Then Corinne’s fifth fertility attempt failed.
Three months later, a gestational carrier became pregnant using Corinne and her husband’s embryo.
The pregnancy was still early when Marcellus was born.
Eleven weeks.
Theodora referred to that unborn baby constantly.
“Corinne’s miracle.”
“The baby we’ve waited for.”
“The family finally getting what it prayed for.”
Lissette never challenged the wording.
Marcellus was already here.
She did not need to compete.
But Theodora did.
She bought Corinne’s future baby an antique silver rattle before purchasing anything for Marcellus.
She had a nursery renovated at her house “for both grandchildren,” but the designer’s invoice called it:
Corinne baby suite.
Then came the questions.
Exact birth date.
Exact birth time.
Whether Marcellus had spent any time in NICU.
Whether doctors expected “normal survival.”
Lissette snapped at that one.
“What kind of question is that?”
Theodora responded:
“Your grandfather’s trust paperwork asks ridiculous things.”
Lissette believed her.
Partly true.
Trust counsel did require documentation that the first qualifying great-grandchild was born alive.
But nobody from the law firm had asked about “normal survival.”
Then on day thirty, Theodora texted Lissette:
How is he sleeping? Still gaining well?
Ordinary grandmother question.
Ten minutes later, she emailed the family office:
Confirm sixty-day certification runs from live birth, not discharge date.
Howard Bell replied:
Correct.
Another message:
If the first great-grandchild does not satisfy the survival period, transition awaits the next descendant who does.
Howard added:
Why are you asking?
Theodora never replied.
Anselm read the email in his lawyer’s office two days after the fire-pit incident.
His face changed.
“Did you think anything of this?”
Howard shook his head.
“No. Trustees ask contingency questions constantly.”
“Would you now?”
“Yes.”
Then Howard produced another timeline.
Seventeen days from today:
A commercial-loan cure deadline involving Corinne’s company.
Eighteen days from today:
Marcellus reached sixty days.
Anselm stared at the dates.
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Corinne did not merely have a mother obsessed with birth order.
She had a financing problem scheduled to mature one day before her nephew changed the family trust.
