Chương 9
Instead, I said hi like we had accidentally met near an elevator.
The nurse lowered her close enough for me to touch her cheek.
Her skin was impossibly soft.
She stopped crying for one second.
I stopped breathing.
“Hi, Bean.”
Maya immediately burst into tears.
“You said I could never call her that.”
“You still can’t.”
The nurse smiled.
“Mom, she needs to go to the NICU.”
The words cut through everything.
“Why?”
“She’s breathing on her own, but she’s working harder than we’d like.”
“Is she in danger?”
“She’s stable.”
There it was again.
Stable.
Fine.
Hopeful.
Words designed to keep terrified people from demanding guarantees no one could give.
“Can Maya go with her?”
The nurse looked at Dr. Patel.
“If she wants.”
Maya looked at me.
“No.”
“Go.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“I have six doctors.”
“You have four.”
“I have enough.”
“Claire.”
“Go with her.”
Maya hesitated.
That hesitation mattered more to me than agreement would have.
She wanted to stay.
She was afraid to leave.
She was also afraid to let my daughter go alone.
“Text me everything.”
“You’ll have your phone?”
“I’ll make someone bring it.”
“Pictures?”
“Not if she looks stressed.”
“Okay.”
“Go.”
Maya bent and kissed my forehead.
Then she followed the neonatal team through the doors.
My daughter disappeared with them.
The room felt instantly wrong.
Too large.
Too quiet.
Dr. Patel continued working behind the drape.
I stared at the doorway.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“You did well.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You showed up.”
“I was kidnapped by a stretcher.”
“That still counts.”
I closed my eyes.
For the first time since Ethan had dropped the folder on my table, there was nothing I could actively fix.
No document to sign.
No number to call.
No decision that would speed up the next five minutes.
I hated it.
When I woke later in recovery, Jonathan was sitting in a chair near the window, reading something on his phone with his glasses low on his nose.
For one confused second, I thought I was at home.
Then I tried to move and pain reminded me where I was.
Jonathan looked up immediately.
“Hey.”
“You say hey?”
“Occasionally.”
“Disturbing.”
“How do you feel?”
“Like someone removed a person from my abdomen.”
“That tracks.”
“Where’s Maya?”
“With the baby.”
“How is she?”
“Stable.”
I glared at him.
“Everybody in this hospital knows one word.”
“She’s on a small amount of breathing support.”
My chest tightened.
“She was breathing on her own.”
“She still is.”
He leaned forward.
“They’re helping keep her lungs open.”
“Did you see her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not family.”
I looked at him.
He raised both eyebrows.
“You know what I mean.”
My phone was charging beside the bed.
I reached for it.
Pain pulled across my abdomen.
Jonathan picked it up and handed it to me.
There were twelve messages from Maya.
The first was a picture of my daughter inside an incubator.
She wore a tiny mask over her nose.
Wires crossed her chest.
One hand was curled beside her head.
She looked impossibly small.
I enlarged the photo.
My thumb shook against the screen.
The second message said, She weighs four pounds eleven ounces and hates everybody.
The third said, Nurse confirms hatred is developmentally appropriate.
I laughed and then immediately regretted it because my incision hurt.
“Don’t make me laugh.”
Jonathan looked offended.
“I didn’t.”
“Maya did remotely.”
“Impressive.”
I scrolled.
Photos.
Updates.
Her oxygen level.
Her temperature.
The fact that she had grabbed Maya’s finger.
The fact that Maya had cried again and blamed hospital air quality.
Then there was a message from Reeves.
Call when able.
I stared at it.
Jonathan noticed.
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No.”
I looked up.
He folded his glasses and set them on his knee.
“For one hour, you actually do not have to solve anything.”
“Ethan is out there.”
“Federal agents are looking for him.”
“My parents are downstairs.”
“They left.”
I frowned.
“When?”
“About an hour ago.”
“Why?”
“Security told them you would not see them.”
“They just left?”
“Eventually.”
I could hear the missing part.
“What did they do?”
Jonathan sighed.
“Your father raised his voice.”
“That means Dad shouted.”
“He suggested the hospital had no legal right to keep him from his daughter.”
“Did he say pregnant daughter or just daughter?”
Jonathan’s expression changed slightly.
“Claire.”
“That was a real question.”
“He asked about you.”
I waited.
“And the baby?”
“No.”
The pain medication made everything feel slightly delayed.
Even disappointment took longer to arrive.
I looked back at Maya’s photo.
My daughter had a perfect little crease between her eyebrows.
She looked annoyed to be alive.
I loved her instantly for it.
“Jonathan.”
“Yes?”
“Send the revised estate documents.”
“Later.”
“Now.”
“You just had surgery.”
“And I still know what I want.”
He studied me.
“That worries me less than the fact that you think this is only about paperwork.”
“What else is it about?”
“Punishment.”
I looked at him.
“That’s not your job.”
“No.”
“But I’ve known you for nine years.”
“Also not your job.”
“You paid me enough to become irritating.”
“That was clearly an error.”
He leaned back.
“If you disinherit Ethan today, maybe that’s exactly what you want.”
“It is.”
“And maybe you still want it next month.”
“Probably.”
“Then what are we discussing?”
“Whether you want your parents removed because they failed you yesterday or because you no longer trust them with your daughter.”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came.
Jonathan did not rescue me from the silence.
That irritated me.
“I don’t trust them.”
“With money?”
“With judgment.”
“Those are different.”
“Not anymore.”
He nodded once.
“Then we document that.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
Jonathan looked at the screen.
“Don’t.”
I almost declined it.
Then something stopped me.
I answered without saying anything.
For several seconds, all I heard was breathing.
Then Chloe said, “Claire?”
Her voice sounded shredded.
May you like
I closed my eyes.
“Where are you?”
