In Frost's residence, evening.
Genevieve sat in silence, her confession still echoing in the dimly lit room. She wasn't sure if she had chosen the right moment — to reveal her pregnancy while her husband carried the weight of his father's fading health and the slow collapse of their finances.
"Why are you so quiet?" she asked gently, her voice laced with worry.
William's reply was barely a whisper. "I'm just thinking about father. I still can't imagine losing him."
Genevieve moved closer, wrapped her arms around him. "We'll get through this, William. Who knows? Maybe he'll recover."
He sighed. "I hope so, Genevieve."
Later, as they lay in bed, she offered a soft smile. "We're stable now, aren't we?"
But William shook his head. "Even so… I'm not sure I can uphold Daddy's name, his reputation, his legacy and now I'm almost down to the last dollar . You know I never finished college. Despite his pleas, I chose to help him — until I met you."
Silence. Only the chirping of crickets outside filled the room.
When Eric Frost passed, he left behind more than memories. William had borrowed heavily, clinging to hope that his father would recover. But the debts grew — slow, invasive — eating away at the family's savings. Each day brought new letters, new demands.
One afternoon, a man in a suit arrived. Atty. Raymond Gere, legal representative of the Bank of Philadelphia, stood at their doorstep.
"Mr. William Frost," he said, calm but firm, "we urge you to settle your debts. Otherwise, we'll be forced to foreclose several dance studios and assets under your father's name."
William's voice trembled. "But, Atty. Gere… the studios aren't earning much anymore. I don't know where else to get the money."
"That's not my concern," the lawyer replied, glancing at the table. "Still, given your situation — and the loss of your father — I'll grant you one year. One year to pay the $3,000,000 debt. Interest not included."
William's hands shook as he scanned the documents. The interest alone made him gasp.
"Atty., this interest… it's excessive."
"Bank policy," Gere said coldly, sipping the coffee Genevieve had prepared.
"Isn't there another way?" William asked, voice barely audible.
"If I were you," Gere said, "I'd sell this house. It could fetch around $4,000,000 — enough to cover the debt and interest. The remainder could help you start fresh with your wife and child."
William glanced at Genevieve, who stood quietly in the distance, listening.
"I'm sorry, Atty. That's… difficult."
"Your decision, Mr. Frost," Gere replied. "I hope you stand by it."
William nodded slowly. He picked up the pen and signed the promissory notes which the lawyer prepared. With each stroke, it felt like he was signing a new chapter — one filled with uncertainty, but not without hope.
Months passed.
The day came. Genevieve went into labor. But complications arose — her oxygen levels dropped, her strength waned. Doctors rushed to perform a Caesarean section to save both mother and child.
The next morning, in a cold hospital room, Genevieve stirred, wincing from the pain of her stitches.
"You're awake," William greeted her, smiling. In his arms, a newborn wrapped in white.
"Look," he said joyfully, "our daughter's beautiful."
But when Genevieve saw the baby, her joy faltered. Instead of delight, she felt a wave of fear, exhaustion, and guilt — echoes of pain not yet healed.
"Genevieve, are you okay?" William asked, puzzled. "Why won't you hold her?"
"My stitches still hurt," she replied faintly, emotionless.
"But just look at her. She's beautiful — looks like Audrey Hipburn, just like you hoped."
"Please, William," she said, weary, "not now."
William fell silent. He looked down at the baby, who stirred gently in his arms. A pang of sadness gripped him, but he forced a smile.
"All right…"
He handed the child to the nurse nearby. "Please take my baby back to the nursery."
The nurse nodded and walked away, her footsteps soft but heavy.
William remained seated, eyes fixed on the door. In his gaze was a quiet storm — joy, fear, and the weight of a world he now had to rebuild.