Part 2
They left before sunset, rolling my suitcase down the hallway because Vivian said hers was “too small for paradise.” Mark kissed Ethan’s forehead without really looking at him.
“Text me if you feel better,” he said.
I stared at him. “Your phone will be on?”
Vivian laughed from the doorway. “Not during the ceremony. Try not to ruin this too.”
The door shut.
The house went silent except for Ethan’s gasping.
My smartwatch vibrated. A voice came through.
“Claire? I got your alert. What’s happening?”
“Lena,” I choked. “He’s blue.”
Her tone changed instantly. “Call 911 now. Lay him on his back. I’m dispatching the nearest unit.”
“My phone is dead. They took the charger.”
“Use the kitchen landline.”
Vivian had pulled the cord from the wall.
Of course she had.
I ran barefoot to the neighbor’s house, Ethan wrapped against my chest, blood roaring in my ears. Mrs. Alvarez opened the door and screamed when she saw his face.
The ambulance arrived in six minutes.
Six minutes can be a lifetime.
At the hospital, everything blurred into white lights, running shoes, clipped orders, a tiny mask, my baby disappearing through double doors. A nurse tried to make me sit. I refused until my knees gave out.
Lena arrived in scrubs, her hair loose, her face pale.
She didn’t lie.
“Claire,” she said softly, “this is serious.”
I signed every form. I answered every question. I handed over the security footage from my phone backup—the one Vivian didn’t know existed. I gave the police the card statements showing airline upgrades, spa deposits, jewelry purchases, and a beachfront suite charged after Ethan was born.
Then I waited.
While Mark and Vivian posted photos.
Vivian in pearls beneath a flower arch.
Mark holding champagne by the ocean.
Caption: Sometimes you have to choose joy.
I screenshotted everything.
