I didn’t go back to the waiting area right away. My legs took me outside the hospital building, where the sun blazed like it had no idea my world was falling apart. The heat did nothing to chase away the chill inside my chest.
Celine’s words rang in my ears like cruel lullabies: “He’ll be calling me Mommy, too.”
The audacity. The cruelty. The threat. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, steadying myself before heading back up to the pediatric wing. I had to be strong. For Liam. For the only reason I was still breathing after everything Zach had done.
When I reached the hallway outside Dr. Beltran’s office, the door was already open. Liam was sitting on the cushioned bench, swinging his legs, humming to himself like nothing was wrong in the world.
“Hey, love,” I said softly, kissing his forehead.
He grinned. “Done already. Dr. B said my lungs sound better!”
I knelt in front of him, cupping his face. “That’s amazing. I’m proud of you.”
He smiled wider. “Can we get ice cream before we go home?”
I laughed, brushing his hair back. “Only if you promise not to tell Dr. B.”
“Promise!”
We walked hand in hand toward the parking lot. I could feel the tension loosening from my shoulders just being near him. But peace, I would learn, never stayed long.
We had just reached the pedestrian lane across the main driveway when I heard the screech of tires. A flash of silver. A scream—not mine, someone else's—and then chaos.
It all happened too fast.
One second Liam was next to me. The next, he was thrown like a ragdoll.
“LIAM!”
My knees hit the asphalt before I even realized I was down. People shouted. A nurse was screaming. A car had slammed into the hospital signpost, smoke curling from its hood. Time blurred, slowed. I crawled to him, my palms scraping across the concrete.
He was still breathing.
His tiny chest moved. Blood streaked his temple, a gash splitting his eyebrow. One of his shoes had flown off. His arm bent at an angle it shouldn’t.
“Call an ambulance!” I shrieked, though we were already at a hospital. “Please, somebody help—my son—!”
Doctors and nurses rushed out, someone pulled me back as they hoisted Liam onto a stretcher.
“I’m his mother!” I screamed, trying to follow. “Let me in, I need to—he needs me!”
But a firm hand held me back.
And that’s when I saw him.
Zach.
On the far end of the sidewalk. Rushing in. His eyes wide, his suit half-wrung, like he had just dropped everything to get here.
“What happened?” he barked at the nurse. “Is that my son?!”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
It was Celine who appeared beside him—calm, cold, timed. She placed a hand on Zach’s arm, pulling him back with measured grace.
“How did you know it was coming?” I whispered, my voice shaking.
Celine tilted her head, eyes glinting like glass. “You think we’d let you keep walking him into danger?”
“What…?”
But she was already turning away. Later, in the waiting room, drenched in sweat and dried tears, a social worker came. She looked apologetic, but firm.
“Ms. Arianne Hatton, there’s concern about your ability to ensure Liam’s safety. Given the severity of the incident, and the pending custody petition, the court has ruled for a temporary emergency transfer.”
“What do you mean?” My throat dried up. “My son is going home with me.”
The social worker shook her head slowly. “No, ma’am. For now, Liam will be released into the custody of his father.”
“No, no, you can’t—this was an accident! I was with him! I was holding his hand!”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice soft. “But there are questions about supervision. About judgment. There was a claim made… that you were distracted, arguing outside the hospital. That you stormed off.”
My eyes widened. “That’s not true! Let me see my son,” I begged, voice cracking. “Please—just let me say goodbye.”
“Get lost, Arianne!” Celine muttered, walking past me with a venomous smile plastered on her lips.
The next day, I packed in silence. Every fold of clothing, every zip of the suitcase felt heavier than it should. I didn’t cry. I’d cried enough. Losing Liam’s custody left a hollow in my chest that no amount of tears could fill.
I slipped his drawing into my passport—a stick-figure version of us under a crooked sun. It was the only piece of him I could take.
At the airport, I kept my head down. The crowds blurred around me. I was just another woman flying away from something she couldn’t fix.
At the gate, I turned on my phone one last time.
Five missed calls. Three texts.
Zach: Where are you?
Zach: Let’s talk, Arianne.
Zach: Don’t do anything stupid.
I stared at the screen for a second then calmly blocked his number. And as the plane took off, I pulled the SIM out of my phone and broke it into pieces.
"Goodbye, Zachary..."
