Chapter 4

A muffled, agonizing groan escaped from beneath my rear end.

By the time I scrambled off him, Ethan’s eyes were tightly shut.

He had passed out again.

I shook him frantically, wailing at the top of my lungs. "Ethan! Please don't leave me! Open your eyes! What am I going to do without you?!"

Martha gnashed her teeth, shoving me away again. "Stop speaking death into existence! My son is fine! Even if you die, he’ll still be breathing!"

I snapped, shoving Martha back. "Why are you stopping me from taking him to the ER?! He’s been unconscious for so long! Are you both blind?!"

"I don't care what you say! I’m going to find the neighbors! We are getting him to a hospital!"

With that, I ran out of the apartment, crying and banging on every door in the hallway.

But luck was entirely on my side today.

To my left, Mr. Sterling had already left to drop his grandson off at school. Not home.

To my right, Liam had left for his corporate job an hour ago. Not home.

Mrs. Higgins upstairs was home, but she was a frail elderly lady who could barely carry her own groceries, let alone a grown man.

Jake, the young guy downstairs, was home and immediately agreed to help.

But the moment he stepped up to our door, my in-laws blocked the entrance like two gargoyles, screaming profanities at him.

"My son is perfectly fine! We don't need some random guy sticking his nose in our business!" Arthur barked.

"Are you looking for trouble? Or are you just my daughter-in-law’s secret little boy toy?!" Martha shrieked.

Stunned and thoroughly disgusted by their trashy behavior, Jake slammed his door shut.

I had to start all over again.

As I went door-to-door, crying and begging, my in-laws followed me, screaming and sabotaging every attempt.

By the time I finally convinced a couple of brave neighbors to ignore my crazy in-laws and help, more than thirty minutes had passed.

Ethan’s condition had deteriorated drastically.

He was lying in a puddle of his own vomit, his body stiffening in an unnatural, rigid posture.

The neighbors grimaced at the sight.

I quickly grabbed my car keys, urging them to help me carry him down to my SUV.

During the descent, I made sure to be the most panicked, trembling, and terrified wife in the world. My hands were "shaking" so hard, my grip was incredibly "slippery."

We accidentally dropped Ethan’s head onto the concrete stairs four or five times.

By the time we got him to the trunk, his face was swollen like a purple balloon.

Arthur’s face contorted with rage. He pointed a finger at me, hissing under his breath, "You clumsy bitch, are you trying to kill my son?! When he wakes up, he’s divorcing you!"

Once we got Ethan into the back, Arthur pushed me aside and slid into the driver’s seat.

His small eyes gleamed with a sinister spark. "I’ll drive. I know a private clinic nearby. It’s much closer!"

I knew exactly what "private clinic" he was talking about. It was Luna's place.

But when we arrived, I almost couldn't believe my luck.