My legs moved before my mind could catch up.
I ran through rain and traffic, the city smearing itself against my face. Cars honked. My hair clung to my skin, my clothes stuck with sweat and rain.
When I reached the hospital room… I pushed open the door.
There he was. Clyde. My little boy, small and folded into the bed. His hands were wrapped in heavy bandages. He looked like my son, the boy who used to laugh at piano keys, and at the same time he looked like a stranger who had been carved out of pain.
I collapsed on him. My tears soaked into his hair. “Clyde,” I whispered over and over. “Mama’s here. Mama’s here, baby.” Everything in me that had turned to iron melted against his skin.
The door creaked and a doctor walked in.
“Your son’s hands suffered severe damage. We did everything we could. With modern surgery, with years of therapy, there is hope. Function can return.”
“C-can he stil play piano? Piano was his love...”
“He might play piano again someday. But not soon.”
I nodded and pressed my hand over my mouth I cried without sound. The piano contests we had circled on calendars burned in my head. Recitals. Dreams. All those bright little futures bleeding into something uncertain and cruel.
The door opened again and this time it was not gentle. A man walked in, tall, smiling like he knew the weight of his own danger and two hulking men shadowed him.
“Savannah,” he said, as if we were old friends meeting at a bar. “I am Troy. Troy Lambert. Rafael's right hand. He sent me.”
The doctor ducked out of the room so fast it was almost comical.
Troy leaned on the bed rail, “Rafael handled the kidnappers for you. Would you like to see their bodies?”
My stomach lurched. “No,” I whispered. “No, I don’t want to see anything.”
He chuckled. “Pity. It was quite the art. Rafael ordered them killed and dismembered. They will never trouble you again.” He tilted his head, studying me like a cat watching a bird. “Do you want to know who hired them?”
Clyde stirred, a soft whimper leaving his lips. My arms tightened around him. I pressed his face to my chest and refused to look at Troy. “I don’t want to know. I only want him safe.”
Troy’s smile curved sharper. “As you wish. Rafael is coming to Europe. You have one week to signed your divorce papers. After that week, he will personally collect you.”
My throat shook. “Thank you,” I whispered, because gratitude was all I had.
Troy’s eyes darkened with amusement, and he leaned close, “Do not thank me, little dove. Rafael will not accept thanks. He will accept you. He will accept your body and your soul. That is the only payment he wants.”
He straightened, winked as if this was all a game, and left with his men trailing behind him like shadows.
The room seemed smaller after they were gone. Darker. Clyde shifted in my arms and began to cry. I held him tighter, rocking him, whispering, and the night pressed in like the walls were closing.
***
I didn’t notice the hours and fell asleep until my phone buzzed in the dark. Clyde’s bandaged little hands were resting on my chest. For a second I thought it was just a dream. Then I saw the screen flashing. Clinton.
My thumb shook as I answered. His voice roared down the line like fire. “Where the hell are you?! Why are you not home? You think you can run away and embarrass me? You dare disappear like this?”
I stared at Clyde’s fragile face, the way his lashes curled against his cheeks, the way his body looked too small beneath the white sheets. Without a word I ended the call. My finger pressed down, powering the phone off. The silence that followed was heavy, but it felt like rebellion. For once I chose quiet over his rage.
By sunrise my body was aching from the narrow bed, my clothes stiff with dried rain and sweat. I smelled of fear and hospital walls. Clyde stirred, and I smoothed his hair, forcing a smile. “Mama will be right back. I’ll get us clean clothes, okay? Then I’ll look pretty again for you.”
I slipped into the hallway. The moment I stepped out, the world spun. Medics rushed past me, wheels squealing, pushing a gurney. On it lay Tyler—pale, clutching his stomach, his cries sharp and piercing. Astrid was clinging to his side, her voice shrill as she screamed for doctors. Clinton stormed behind them, face twisted in panic, barking orders at everyone in sight.
His eyes locked on me.
He broke away from the gurney and grabbed my arm so hard I thought the bone would snap.
“Savannah!” His hand flew before I could breathe. The slap cracked across my cheek, hot and blinding.
“How dare you,” His grip dug deeper into my flesh. “You ordered a maid to poison Tyler’s food last night. Did you really think you could kill my son and get away with it? You pathetic bitch.”
My face burned. My chest burned worse. I swallowed the scream pressing against my throat. No words came out because I knew it would not matter. Clinton had already chosen his truth. He would never believe me.
Tyler’s groans grew louder. “Daddy… Daddy!”
Clinton ripped himself away from me, running after the gurney, chasing the boy he worshipped. His parting words cut me open. “We will talk after this.”
Astrid passed close behind, her perfume choking the air. Her lips curved in the faintest smile. Calm. Smug. That was all the proof I needed. She had orchestrated this. She had poisoned Tyler and pinned it on me.
I bit down hard and swallowed the sob clawing its way up my chest. I walked on, stiff, refusing to break in front of her. I bought clean clothes from a shop down the street, my hands shaking as I folded them into a bag. Then I came back, focused only on reaching Clyde.
At the elevator I pressed the button, willing it to open. The doors slid apart with a soft chime. Relief rushed in my chest until a figure stepped forward, blocking my way.
Astrid.
She leaned against the doorway, her perfume heavy and sweet like poison. “How’s your little Clyde? Is he dead now?” She tilted her head, “I ordered those thugs to smash his tiny fingers. That way my son could steal the piano’s spotlight. And when they were finished, I told them to dump your little boy body on the street like trash.”
