Chapter 3: The Cold Light of Mercy General
The drive back to the hospital was the longest ten minutes of my life. I had forced Josh into the car, my mind set on “fixing” this impossible situation. We had grabbed two old laundry baskets and padded them with towels to serve as makeshift carriers.
In the backseat, Josh sat between the baskets, his hands hovering over the babies like a guardian angel. He didn’t argue with me further; he just watched them with a terrifyingly adult intensity.
When we stepped into the lobby of Mercy General, the sterile smell of antiseptic felt like a judgment. Mrs. Chen was waiting near the elevators, her face a mask of exhaustion and guilt.
“Margaret, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, pulling me aside. “The hospital is in an uproar. The father… he’s a monster. He left a legal mess in his wake. And Sylvia… she’s slipping.”
“How did you let a child take these babies, Sarah?” I hissed.
“I didn’t ‘let’ him. I facilitated a desperate mother’s last wish. Sylvia knew she was losing consciousness. She knew the father was gone. She saw Josh—a piece of the family she thought she was building—and she clung to him. Legally, it’s a grey area, but humanly? It was the only mercy she had left.”
We went up to Room 314. The ICU was a place of beeps and hums, the soundtrack of lives hanging by threads. Sylvia looked like a ghost. She was barely twenty-five, but in the harsh fluorescent light, she looked ancient. Her skin was a translucent grey, and her eyes were sunken.
When she saw us—saw Josh holding the babies—a tiny spark of life flickered in her gaze.
“You… you came back,” she rasped.
I stood at the foot of her bed, my anger at Derek warring with a profound, soul-deep pity for this girl. She had been the “other woman,” yes. She had been the one Derek chose over me. But standing here, she was just a girl who had been used and discarded by a predator.
“I’m Margaret,” I said softly.
“I know,” she whispered. “He told me… he told me you were the reason he was unhappy. But I see now… he’s just a man who leaves when things get heavy.”
She reached out a trembling, IV-bruised hand toward the baskets. “I have nobody. My mother died when I was ten. I have no siblings. Derek was my whole world. And now… I don’t think I’m going to make it out of this bed.”
“Don’t talk like that,” I said, though the monitors told a different story.
“Please,” she sobbed, the sound muffled by her oxygen mask. “Don’t let them be alone. They’re Josh’s family. They’re all they have left of… of anything good.”
I looked at Josh. He was already leaning over Liam—that was the name Sylvia had whispered—checking his breathing. My son, who should have been worried about his history final, was checking the vitals of a human being.
I stepped into the hallway and dialed Derek. My heart was a stone in my chest.
“What?” he snapped on the third ring. He sounded like he was in a bar. There was music in the background.
“It’s Margaret. I’m at Mercy General. I’m standing outside Sylvia’s room.”
There was a long, cold silence.
“I told the nurses I’m out,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous hiss. “It’s a mess, Margaret. She’s sick, the kids are screaming, and I can’t—I have a life to live. I’m not doing this again. I did my time with Josh. I’m not starting over at forty-five with two anchors around my neck.”
“They are your children, Derek! They are flesh and blood!”
“They are a mistake,” he said, and I heard the unmistakable sound of a drink hitting a table. “I already called my lawyer. I’m signing over rights. If you’re so worried about them, you deal with it. Or let the state have them. I don’t care.”
“You are a coward,” I whispered.
“I’m a realist,” he countered. “And don’t call me again.”
The line went dead.
