Chapter 2

“We're losing her! Get her to the neonatal unit, now!”

The nurse had barely grabbed the baby from me when I stumbled forward two steps, and a savage pain tore low in my belly, blood running down the inside of my pant leg.

I dropped to my knees, and all I could do was watch Lyndon Prescott chase the crash cart out the door.

Hilda Fox pressed a hand to her chest and called his name, and his steps stalled. He turned back, lifted her into a wheelchair, and said,

“Hilda's not well. I'm taking her down to the ER with me.”

Even now he was still worrying about Hilda. I looked up at him, my eyes splitting with fury.

“Where's my daughter? I want to see her.”

Lyndon's face was black.

“The doctors are already working on her. Can you just be quiet? Haven't you caused enough of a scene today?”

Be quiet? I froze.

After the door to the resuscitation room closed, I braced myself against the wall and forced myself upright.

The head of the neonatal unit came out, forehead beaded with sweat.

“We've got her stable for now, but her gestational age is very low and she just went through oxygen deprivation. From here on she has to stay in the incubator. No one is to take her out again.”

My legs buckled, and just as I started to fall, Lyndon reached out to steady me. I threw his hand off hard, staring at him through my tears.

“I told you! She was barely a dozen hours old, and you dragged her out of that incubator just so Hilda could have a birthday! Something happened to her, and now you're happy!”

Lyndon's face darkened.

“Enough. The baby's been saved. If you hadn't come charging in to snatch her back today, she never would have cried herself into that state! Her own mother doesn't even feel for her—what were the rest of us supposed to do?”

I stared at him, stunned.

Our daughter had nearly died in their hands, and somehow, in the end, the one in the wrong was still me.

Hilda was wheeled back out, her eyes red-rimmed.

“Hilary, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I never should have wanted to be a mother.”

Lyndon went straight to her.

“It's got nothing to do with you. You only wanted to be a mother. What's wrong with that?”

The words had barely left his mouth when Jared ran out of the elevator. He threw himself down at Hilda's bedside, crying frantically.

“Mommy Hilda, are you feeling sick again?”

I looked at my own son, calling another woman his mother, and for a long moment I couldn't get a single word out.

He hadn't even asked one thing about his little sister.

Hilda stroked his head and shot me a smug glance.

“Auntie's all right, sweetie. It's your baby sister who nearly got hurt. Hilary won't let your sister be my daughter. Jared, will you help me talk to your mommy?”

Jared whipped his head around and glared at me.

“Mommy, why do you always pick on Mommy Hilda? Daddy said it—Sister's just being lent to her for one month and then she'll come back to you. Why can't you even wait one month?”

My voice shook.

“Jared, I'm the one who gave birth to her.”

“But Mommy Hilda is going to die soon!”

He was screaming through his tears now.

“You still have me, and Sister, and Daddy. You have everything. Why do you have to fight Mommy Hilda for this? You're a wicked woman, and I hate you! Why can't you be the one who dies instead!”

Every word landed like a knife, and beside him Lyndon didn't so much as flinch.

I couldn't say anything anymore.

Every last one of those lines was something Lyndon had said. He had taken his own favoritism and taught it to our son, one sentence at a time.

I coughed up a mouthful of blood, and only then did Lyndon frown and reach for Jared.

“That's enough. Stop it.”

But Jared burrowed into Hilda's arms.

“I like Mommy Hilda! She's never mean to me like Mommy is!”

The nurse came running after me, and when she saw the blood on me her face went white.

“Dr. Swanson, your incision has split open again. You need to come back right now and get it treated!”

I didn't move.

In the resuscitation room lay my daughter, a day old. In front of me stood the husband and son who thought I was in the way. I looked down at the hospital gown soaked through with blood, and all at once the pain didn't seem to be worth anything anymore.

I lifted my head and asked Lyndon,

“If I died, you'd be satisfied. Wouldn't you?”

His face turned dark in an instant.

“Hilary Swanson, who are you trying to threaten with your death this time?”

I looked at him for a long time, then gave a small smile.

“All right. I won't threaten you anymore.”