When I got home, I fed Jennifer and rocked her to sleep. She made soft little noises and her eyelashes cast tiny shadows on her cheeks under the lamp.
My phone buzzed.
Anastasia had posted on her Insta.
Three hands stacked together. Jordan’s hand. Her hand. And Blair’s chubby little hand holding a set of car keys.
The caption said something about rewarding their little hero.
A five million dollar car, given like a toy.
Last week I’d reminded Jordan three times to buy imported diapers for his daughter. He’d said he was busy and forgot.
I stared at the screen and suddenly laughed. It sounded sharp and empty.
I saved the screenshot into my evidence folder.
Jennifer shifted in my arms, smacking her lips in her sleep.
I lowered my head and kissed her soft cheek.
“Baby, Mommy will protect you. No matter what.”
…
The next day, after checking all my resources and shares, I booked a flight to Newyork three days later.
Jordan had been texting me nonstop for the past few days, probably trying to keep up his “perfect husband” image.
“Honey, the client today was impossible, but I managed to get them on board.”
“Honey, you’ve been working so hard. The pastries in downtown are amazing. I’ll take you there next time.”
I scrolled through the messages, laughing bitterly to myself. Did he think I didn’t know? Every bonus he quietly funneled into Anastasia’s account had been recorded in my emails. Every cent. And while he was pretending to be the devoted husband, she was posting pictures of herself with stacks of money tucked into her underwear and fresh hickeys all over her body.
I couldn’t help but laugh, a little broken, at how blind I had been. Once upon a time, Jordan had loved me like that. We were childhood sweethearts, everyone envied us. He’d promised under that old banyan tree he’d marry no one but me. In college, he’d chased away every girl who even looked at me, acting like a wolf protecting his territory. He stayed at my bedside for three nights straight when I had my appendix surgery, never sleeping. The first paycheck he earned went straight into my account, with a note that said To my little princess.
But none of that mattered anymore.
A sudden cry cut through my thoughts. The nursery.
“Oh my God, Miss Genevieve! The baby had cut on her thigh and the bleeding… it won’t stop!” The nanny’s hands were shaking, smeared with blood.
My chest dropped. I ran in and grabbed Jennifer. Her tiny cries were fading, but the blood on her leg wouldn’t stop. My arms felt weak but I carried her as fast as I could to the hospital.
The doctor looked at the tests and said, “She had a rare neonatal disorder! Her hemoglobin is dangerously low. She needs a blood transfusion immediately.”
My lips trembled. “Do whatever you can. Give her the IV. I’ll do anything… I’m her mother…”
“Parents can’t give blood directly,” the doctor said calmly, almost detached. “And she’s Rh-negative. We need to check the blood bank first.”
“Then give her a clotting agent. Now!” I yelled, panic clawing through me.
Even after the clotting agent, the blood kept coming. I held her pale little body, tears sliding down my face like they’d never end.
Minutes later, a nurse ran in, sympathy written all over her face. “Miss Genevieve… the Rh-negative blood… it’s all been used up.”
“What? You just said there was some in reserve!” My voice cracked.
The nurse looked down and whispered, “This is a private hospital. Mr. Sinclair’s son needed it urgently. The director moved all the rare blood to the VIP ward.”
Everything inside me froze. Thunderbolt. My chest felt like it had been ripped open.
I was about to call Jordan, to scream at him, when my phone lit up. Anastasia had posted a new Insta story.
“Little rascal scraped his knee? Lucky for you, Dad can get the rarest blood in the whole city in no time.”
I felt like my head was about to explode. I handed Jennifer to the nurse and ran. Up the stairs, up the corridors, my heart hammering.
I kicked open the door to the VIP ward.
Anastasia was there, smiling, playing some game with Evan who was sitting comfortably in the hospital bed. The scrape on his knee looked so minor a band-aid wasn’t even needed.
I froze. My chest burned like ice and fire at the same time. That scene, that happy little mother and her child, stabbed straight into my heart.
I could feel the hatred boiling up, overwhelming me, almost taking over. I couldn’t hold it in.
“Give my daughter the blood!” I screamed.
Her face was full of that smug, triumphant look she always got when she thought she’d won.
“Why are you making such a fuss?” she said, voice sharp. “My son scraped his knee, that’s all.”
I couldn’t stop my voice from shaking. “It’s not just a scrape. My daughter… she has a rare neonatal condition. If we wait any longer, she could die!”
The doctor outside heard the shouting and stepped in cautiously. “What’s going on here? If there’s enough blood, could some of it go to this child?”
I looked at him like I was clinging to a lifeline. “Please… my daughter needs Rh-negative blood immediately! If it’s delayed even a little… she won’t survive.”
Anastasia rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Oh please, Doctor. You know who my husband is. He’s the biggest shareholder in this hospital. Did you forget that? Every drop of Rh-negative blood is reserved for our son. You want to lose your job?”
I felt like someone had punched me in the chest. Everything inside me shattered.
I lunged at the IV stand and grabbed the bag of blood. “You stole my daughter’s life! How could you do this?”
Anastasia screamed, stamping her foot. “Security! Grab her! This crazy woman is trying to steal my son’s blood!”
Two guards rushed over and pinned my arms. My rage flared, hot and wild, and I could feel every heartbeat pounding in my ears.
Anastasia snatched the bag back like she’d won a trophy and held it up. “See this? She tried to take my son’s blood. Drag her out now!”
They pulled me away, my chest heaving, fury and despair mixing into something I could barely breathe.
One of them yelled, “The hospital has enough blood, she’s just making a scene!”
I wanted to scream, to burn this place down with my voice. “I don’t care! My daughter is dying, and she has the right to live!”
The hospital director walked in at the commotion and frowned. “Wait, who’s Mrs. Sinclair here?”
