Too Late For Regret: My Dying Breath

The security guards shoved Harlow and Clementine through the Plaza's side exit. The heavy glass door slammed shut behind them. The freezing November wind instantly swallowed them, biting through their thin clothes. Harlow ignored the stinging scrape on her wrist. She dropped to her knees on the icy concrete. Her hands shook violently as she picked up the cracked plastic hearing aid from the pavement. She brushed the dirt off it and carefully hooked it back over Clementine's small ear. Clementine shook uncontrollably. Her teeth chattered. She threw her arms around Harlow's neck and buried her face in her shoulder. The little girl raised her hands, her stiff fingers awkwardly forming the sign language gesture for 'home'. Harlow's throat tightened. Hot tears burned the back of her eyes. She wrapped her arms around her daughter, pulling her tight against her chest. She had no home to go back to. If she didn't convince Ezra tonight, she would die in a few months, and Clementine would be thrown into the nightmare of the state foster care system. Harlow bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. She stood up, carrying Clementine. She walked to the curb and flagged down a battered yellow taxi with the last twenty-dollar bill in her pocket. "The Hamptons," Harlow told the driver, giving him the address she had spent five years trying to forget. The driver took the cash and sped off into the night. An hour later, the taxi pulled away, leaving Harlow and Clementine standing in front of towering black wrought-iron gates. There were no trees to block the wind. The freezing air blowing off the Atlantic Ocean felt like physical blades slicing across Harlow's exposed skin. She carried Clementine to the stone pillar and pressed the button on the intercom. Static crackled. The cold, mechanical voice of the estate's head butler filled the air. "Mr. Bray has issued strict orders," the butler said. "No one with the last name Aguilar is permitted on the premises." "Please," Harlow begged into the camera lens. "Just five minutes. Tell him I'm waiting here." The intercom clicked off. The red light on the camera went dark. Harlow didn't turn around. She took off her washed-out gray coat. She wrapped it tightly around Clementine, swaddling the shivering girl until only her face showed. Harlow was left standing in a thin, threadbare sweater. She sat down on the freezing stone steps outside the gate, pulling Clementine onto her lap. The temperature dropped below freezing. By 2:00 AM, Harlow's lungs began to protest the extreme cold. A violent asthma attack seized her chest. She clamped both hands over her mouth, muffling the agonizing coughs. She tasted fresh blood. She swallowed it down, refusing to let Clementine see. But her body shook so hard that Clementine stirred in her sleep, whimpering softly. Four hours passed. Harlow's fingers turned blue. Her vision started to tunnel. She thought they were going to freeze to death on the concrete. Then, headlights pierced the darkness. A black Maybach rolled to a stop in front of the gates. The tinted rear window slowly rolled down. Ezra sat in the shadows of the backseat. His face was a mask of dark, brooding anger. He had just returned from the gala. His cold eyes swept over the two figures huddled on his steps. For a full minute, Ezra didn't move. He sat in the heated car, his eyes locked on Harlow. He searched her face, looking for the calculated manipulation he was so sure she possessed. But all he saw was her deathly pale skin, her blue lips, and the way her frozen arms were locked protectively around the child. Ezra let out a harsh breath. He ripped his black bowtie off and threw it onto the seat. He pushed the car door open. His expensive leather shoes crunched against the frost-covered pavement. He stopped right in front of Harlow. He raised his foot and nudged the edge of her worn sneaker with his toe. "Is this your plan?" Ezra sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "A cheap sympathy stunt so you can sell a sob story to the New York Times tomorrow?" Harlow forced her heavy eyelids open. She looked up at the man she used to love. "Ezra," she rasped. Her vocal cords were so damaged from the cold she could barely make a sound. "Please. Just talk to me." Ezra stared at her pathetic, broken state. The sight of her didn't bring him satisfaction. It only fueled the burning rage in his chest. He spun around and marched to the keypad on the stone pillar. He punched in the code. The heavy iron gates slowly groaned open. Ezra didn't look back. "If you track mud onto my floors," he warned over his shoulder, "I'm calling the police." Harlow let out a shaky breath. She gathered every ounce of strength left in her dying body. She picked up the sleeping Clementine and stumbled through the gates, following Ezra's broad back into the massive, brightly lit mansion. The sudden blast of heat inside the foyer hit Harlow like a physical blow. The extreme temperature change made her head spin. Black spots danced in her vision. She carefully laid Clementine down on a plush velvet sofa in the corner of the hall. Ezra didn't wait for her. He walked straight into his private study. The scent of expensive cigars and cedarwood drifted out. He left the heavy oak door wide open. It was an invitation to her own execution. Harlow dragged her numb legs across the marble floor. She took a deep breath, ignoring the stabbing pain in her ribs, and walked into the study. Ezra sat behind a massive mahogany desk. He rested his elbows on the wood, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. His dark eyes scanned her up and down like she was a defective product on an assembly line. "So," Ezra began. He dragged the word out, making it heavy with oppression. "You ran off with Atticus Duffy's bastard five years ago. Now you're back, begging at my door. Exactly how much money do you want?" Hearing Atticus's name, and the word 'bastard', drained the last drop of blood from Harlow's face. She bit down hard on her lower lip. The skin broke. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, grounding her. She closed her eyes for one second. She swallowed all her pride, all her humiliation. She opened her eyes, looked straight into Ezra's hostile gaze, and spoke the truth. "Clementine is your daughter."