Chapter 2
The words hung in the air like smoke.
I stared at my mother, waiting for her to deny it.
She just shifted her weight and stared at the floor.
“You took her pain meds?” I said, my voice so low I barely recognized it.
“They make her drowsy,” she said, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. “How is she supposed to get anything done if she’s asleep all day?”
Sarah whimpered in my arms, her body going limp.
The blood was spreading faster now, dark and warm against my shirt.
I didn’t have time to argue.
I lifted Sarah in my arms, her head lolling against my shoulder, and yelled over my shoulder, “If she dies, I will never forgive you.”
I carried her to the car, laying her across the backseat as gently as I could.
She grabbed my wrist before I could close the door.
“Emma,” she breathed. “Don’t leave her with her.”
I ran back inside, my boots thudding up the stairs two at a time.
The nursery door was closed.
I threw it open.
Emma was in her crib, red-faced and screaming, her tiny fists flailing. Her onesie was soaked through with sweat, and there was a dry, crusty rash around her mouth. She must have been crying for hours.
I picked her up, pressing her to my chest, and she quieted a little, sniffling into my shirt.
My mother was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed.
“You’re overreacting,” she said. “All babies cry.”
I didn’t answer.
I walked past her, Emma tucked tight against me, and didn’t look back.
The ER was chaos.
I carried Sarah through the automatic doors, screaming for help, and nurses swarmed us immediately. They took her from my arms, wheeling her away on a gurney, while another nurse led me and Emma to a private waiting room.
I sat there for what felt like hours, bouncing Emma in my lap, her tiny hand wrapped around my finger.
My phone buzzed.
It was my mother.
I didn’t answer.
She texted.
You need to calm down. You’re making a scene. I raised you better than this.
I threw my phone into the empty chair next to me.
Emma fussed, and I stood, pacing the small room, whispering to her that everything would be okay. Even though I didn’t believe it myself.
Finally, a doctor came in.
She was in her late forties, with tired eyes and a calm voice.
“Daniel?” she said. “I’m Dr. Hale. I’ve been treating Sarah.”
I sat down, Emma still in my arms. “Is she okay?”
“She lost a lot of blood,” Dr. Hale said, pulling a chair across from me. “Her uterus didn’t contract properly after birth—something called postpartum hemorrhage. The pain medication she was prescribed helps with that, too. Without it, the cramping got worse, and the exertion of cleaning… it triggered the bleeding.”
My throat tightened. “Is she going to be okay?”
“We stabilized her with fluids and a transfusion,” she said. “We put her back on her medication, and we’re monitoring her closely. She’s going to be sore for a long time, and she’ll need strict bed rest for at least two more weeks. No lifting, no cleaning, no stress. If she overdoes it again, it could be fatal.”
Fatal.
The word echoed in my head.
I thought of Sarah on the kitchen floor, of my mother standing over her telling her to work harder.
“Can I see her?” I said.
Dr. Hale smiled gently. “Of course. But only for a few minutes. She needs rest.”
She led me to a room down the hall.
Sarah was in the bed, pale and still, an IV in her arm. Her eyes were closed, but she opened them when she heard me come in.
“Emma?” she whispered.
I brought the baby to her, lowering her so Sarah could brush her cheek with a trembling finger.
“She’s perfect,” Sarah said, tears spilling down her face. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t—”
“Don’t,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “None of this is your fault. Do you hear me? None of it.”
She grabbed my hand, her grip weak but tight.
“Daniel,” she said, her voice dropping. “She didn’t just take my meds. She told me if I told you, she’d make sure I lost Emma. She said she’d tell everyone I was a bad mother.”
My blood ran cold.
I stared at Sarah, at the fear in her eyes, and realized this wasn’t just about cleaning or meds.
This was about control.
My mother had been planning this.
She’d moved in “to help” two weeks before Emma was born, saying she wanted to be there for the baby. I’d thought it was sweet. Sarah had been nervous, but I’d told her it would be fine.
I’d been so stupid.
“I’ll fix this,” I said, squeezing her hand. “I promise. She’s never going to hurt you again.”
Sarah closed her eyes, a tear sliding into her hair.
“Okay,” she breathed.
I stayed with her until the nurse came in, saying visiting hours were over. I kissed Sarah’s forehead, then carried Emma out to the parking lot.
It was dark now, the Dallas skyline glowing in the distance.
I strapped Emma into her car seat, then checked my phone.
Three missed calls from my mother.
Seven texts.
The latest one made my stomach turn.
I’m still at the house. I made dinner. We can talk about this like adults when you get home. Don’t be stubborn, Daniel. Family comes first.
I stared at the screen.
May you like
She was in my house.
Waiting.
