Chapter 3

Winter's POV

New York rain had been falling for three straight days.

I stood alone on the cemetery hill, looking up at the gray sky. I'd chosen the sunniest plot for Axel, surrounded by his favorite sunflowers.

It was winter. The sunflowers hadn't bloomed yet. But I knew Axel was always afraid of the dark, always afraid of being cold.

He used to wrap his arms around my neck and ask: "Mommy, does the sun watch over us every day from up there?"

I placed that tiny black urn into the grave myself.

Axel, baby, you'll never hurt again. Never be sick again. This kid had always been fragile, constantly battling little colds and fevers. And Marcus never knew, never cared.

One winter when he got a bad cold, his fever spiked to 104 and he started having seizures. I called Marcus crying, begging him to come see his son.

His voice was ice cold: "Marlowe's having problems in Boston. I can't leave her alone with Tommy. Axel has a fever? Call a doctor. What am I supposed to do about it?"

That night in the ER, Axel gripped my sleeve while getting his IV. Delirious with fever, he asked me: "Mommy, doesn't Daddy like me? Is it because I'm not good enough?"

My heart was breaking. I lied and told him no, Daddy was just too busy.

Now I'd never have to lie to him again.

Meanwhile, in Mount Sinai's VIP suite.

Marcus sat beside the bed, patiently peeling an apple for Tommy. Tommy's fever had broken. He was clutching Axel's Superman plush toy, watching cartoons.

Marlowe leaned back on the sofa, looking pale and fragile.

She glanced at Marcus tentatively: "Marcus, you left in such a rush last night. Winter's not gonna be pissed at me, is she? Maybe we should postpone tomorrow's procedure. Tommy can wait a little longer."

"Wait for what? Tommy's condition can't be delayed." Marcus frowned, handing Tommy the peeled apple. "Winter's just spoiled. Always throwing tantrums. She thinks divorce threats will work? Please."

Marlowe looked down, smirking.

That afternoon, after Tommy fell asleep, Marcus left the hospital. Walking past the gift shop in the lobby, he stopped. Through the window, he saw a huge Transformer model.

He remembered Winter's dead eyes from last night. Something bothered him. He walked into the shop and casually pointed at a cheap plastic robot: "Wrap this up."

He planned to bring the toy home to pacify Axel. After all, he'd need the kid to cooperate with tomorrow's blood draw. A little bribe wouldn't hurt.

That evening, Marcus drove his Porsche back to their Upper East Side apartment.

The place was dead silent.

He opened the door. No smell of dinner cooking. No sound of Axel running over to hug his legs and shout "Daddy!"

Frowning, he changed his shoes and went to Axel's room.

The room was empty. The closet doors hung open, most of the clothes gone. The art supplies and toys from the desk had vanished too. The whole room looked clean, like no little boy had ever lived there.

Marcus's face darkened. He threw the plastic robot onto the bed: "Winter, you actually dare to run away with the kid? You think I can't find you?"

He pulled out his phone and dialed Winter's number. Cold automated voice: "The number you have dialed is not available."

Marcus sneered. Winter was playing with fire. Tomorrow was Tommy's crucial blood separation procedure, and she'd taken away the blood source at this critical moment.

He didn't try calling Winter again. Instead, he dialed Dr. Stevens at Mount Sinai directly. He'd check Axel's medical records, have the hospital use their connections to track Winter down.

Stevens picked up.

"Dr. Stevens, this is Marcus Sanchez."

Marcus walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at Manhattan's glittering lights.

"Winter disappeared with Axel. I need you to check Axel's recent medical records immediately, see if she took him to another hospital. Also, prepare for tomorrow's procedure as scheduled. I'll bring the kid over."

The other end went dead silent.

After several seconds, Dr. Stevens' shaky voice came through: "Mr. Sanchez? Are you joking?"

"Does this sound like a joke to you?" Marcus loosened his tie impatiently.

"But... but... Mr. Sanchez, didn't you get the notification? Axel Sanchez experienced irreversible multiple organ failure during yesterday afternoon's third-phase stem cell extraction..."

Marcus frowned: "What are you talking about? Is he sick? Can we still do tomorrow's procedure?"

"No... he didn't get sick." The voice became shaky. "Axel has been pronounced dead. The consent form you personally signed clearly stated a seventy percent fatality risk... Your wife took the body for cremation last night."

Marcus froze.

"What did you... say?"

"Axel's dead, Mr. Sanchez. He didn't make it."