Carissa rushed to the bed. She touched Isadore's pale cheek. His skin was terrifyingly cold under her fingers.
Isadore coughed, a weak, rattling sound from his small chest. He pointed a tiny finger at a bowl of pumpkin soup on the nightstand. "Hungry."
Carissa touched the bowl. Ice cold. She immediately hit the call button.
A young maid entered a minute later, carrying a fresh, steaming bowl of soup. She had a round face and a permanent sneer. She rolled her eyes, slammed the bowl on the table, and left without a word.
Carissa ignored the disrespect. She picked up the heavy silver spoon, scooped up the hot liquid, and blew on it carefully.
She brought it to Isadore's lips. Her eyes were wide with desperate hope. Eat. Get strong.
Isadore swallowed obediently. But his stomach, ravaged by months of chemotherapy, immediately cramped. He winced.
Carissa was too blinded by her anxiety to notice. She quickly scooped another spoonful. And another. "Eat, baby. You have to eat to beat the sickness."
She fed him too fast. Isadore, wanting to please his mother, forced the heavy liquid down. His face turned a sickly gray.
On the fifth spoonful, Isadore gagged. He pushed her hand away and let out a violent retch.
Thick yellow vomit erupted from his mouth. It splashed all over Carissa's shirt and soaked into the pristine white blankets.
The sour, acidic stench filled the room. Isadore curled into a tight ball, his face bright red, sobbing as his stomach convulsed.
Carissa froze in sheer panic. She dropped the bowl. It clattered on the hardwood floor. She grabbed her sleeve to wipe his mouth. "Oh god, Izzy, I'm sorry—"
The nursery door slammed open. Guilford and Dr. Adler rushed in.
Guilford took one look at the vomit-covered bed and his agonizing son. A storm of pure fury exploded in his eyes.
He lunged forward, grabbed Carissa by the arm, and yanked her away from the bed. The sudden force made her stumble backward. Her shoulder slammed into the solid mahogany wardrobe. A sharp cry of pain escaped her lips. The silver spoon clattered across the floor.
Guilford didn't even look at her. He rolled Isadore onto his side to prevent choking, his large hands moving with desperate precision.
Dr. Adler checked the boy's vitals, his stethoscope pressed to Isadore's small chest. After a tense minute, the doctor exhaled. "He's stable. Just severe gastric distress." He shot Carissa a look of deep reprimand over his wire-rimmed glasses.
Guilford spun around. He stalked toward Carissa, stopping inches from her face.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Guilford roared. His voice vibrated the glass in the windows. "Are you trying to kill him?"
Carissa trembled violently, her back throbbing with pain. A hot flash of defensive anger surged in her chest at his accusation, but the moment her eyes darted to Isadore's tear-streaked face, the fire died. The crushing weight of her own mistake suffocated her pride. "I... I just wanted him to eat. I didn't know his stomach couldn't handle it."
Guilford let out a cruel, mocking laugh. "You didn't know? Because you haven't been a mother to him for three years! You come in here, playing the devoted mom, and you almost choke him to death."
Every word twisted in her gut.
"You're as selfish and incompetent now as you were when you sold him," Guilford spat.
Tears spilled down Carissa's cheeks. Her love for her son had just been weaponized against her.
Imogene appeared in the doorway, taking in Carissa's vomit-stained clothes and Guilford's rage. A satisfied smirk played on her pink lips.
Guilford pointed at the door. "Get out. You're not to come within ten feet of him without the doctor present. Get out of my sight."
Carissa looked at Isadore, wanting to apologize, but Guilford's lethal glare pinned her in place.
She lowered her head and walked out of the room under the mocking stares of the gathered staff.
