Chapter 3

Three days later, on Mrs. Ashford’s birthday, I stayed away from the estate. I did not bake the cake Grant had demanded.

That afternoon, he called me.

“Oliver is spending time with his family. I’ll bring him back once he settles in.”

Family?

What gave him the right to call the people who had hurt me Oliver’s family?

I called the nanny as I ran for my car. She had taken Oliver to the small playground near the coffee shop. A man she recognized as my former husband approached them with two security guards, insisted he was Oliver's father, and pulled the screaming child away before she could stop him. She had already called the police.

When I reached the Ashford estate, staff were preparing the garden for dinner. I shoved past the people at the entrance and ran into the house.

“Grant! Give me back my son!”

No one answered.

Then I heard Oliver screaming in the backyard.

“Mommy! I want Mommy!”

I ran toward his voice.

Sienna stood on the terrace holding Oliver beside two cats. His face was red from crying. He kept twisting away from the black cat in her arms, and an angry rash had spread across his exposed skin.

“Oliver is severely allergic to cats. Get that animal away from him!”

Grant stepped between us and caught my arms before I could reach the terrace.

“Sienna is only helping him get used to animals. You can’t raise a boy to be this delicate.”

“He isn’t being delicate. He’s having an allergic reaction.”

Oliver clawed at his throat. His breaths came faster, each one more strained than the last.

“Let me go. He could die.”

Sienna backed away, still holding the cat.

“There’s no need to scare everyone. I only let him pet her. She didn’t even scratch him.”

“The cat doesn’t have to scratch him. Put her down and get away from my son!”

Oliver reached for me. His cries were fading.

“Mommy… I can’t breathe…”

Something inside me snapped.

I drove my heel down on Grant’s foot. Pain loosened his grip, and I slapped him hard enough to turn his head.

“Get out of my way.”

I rushed to Oliver and pulled him into my arms. His body was going limp. Swollen red welts covered his face and neck, and every breath came with a thin, desperate wheeze.

I dropped to my knees and reached for the emergency bag hanging from his shoulder.

Sienna grabbed the strap.

“He took something from my room. I need to check his bag first.”

“Let go.”

“I said I need to—”

I shoved her away, tore the bag free, and found Oliver's epinephrine auto-injector in the marked medical pouch. I pressed it against his outer thigh through his pants and held it in place, counting the seconds with a shaking voice.

His body jerked, but his eyes stayed closed.

“Baby, look at Mommy.”

He did not respond.

I lifted him and ran for the front drive. The nanny had told the dispatcher where Grant had taken him, and the ambulance she called was turning through the estate gates.

Grant chased me.

“Give him to me. I’ll drive.”

I held Oliver tighter and kept moving toward the paramedics.

“Don’t touch him.”

“Evelyn, this isn’t the time for another tantrum.”

The paramedics took one look at Oliver and lifted him onto a stretcher. I climbed into the ambulance beside him. Grant and Sienna followed in their car.

By the time we reached the hospital, Oliver was unconscious.

I stood outside the emergency room, trembling from head to toe as the doors closed behind him.

Memories from three years ago crashed over me: surgical lights, cold machines, a doctor's quiet voice.

I’m sorry. We couldn’t save the baby.

I had already lost one child.

I could not lose Oliver too.

The emergency-room doors opened, and a doctor hurried toward us.

“Your son is in severe anaphylactic shock. We’re doing everything we can. Who is his legal guardian?”

He held out a consent form.

“His mother or father needs to sign.”

I reached for it, but Grant snatched it first.

“I’m his father. I’ll sign.”

I tried to take the form back. He held it beyond my reach.

“Saving him is what matters right now,” he said. “We can settle our issues later.”

He lowered the pen toward the line marked Father.

An icy voice came from the far end of the corridor.

“When did my son become yours?”