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They’d disapproved of Amanda. She’d demanded a five-star hotel wedding, shunning our hometown. After Noah was born, she took their money but barred them from visiting.
They were heartbroken.
Their contact was blocked except for birthday/Christmas money transfers for Noah.
I dialed.
Ring… Ring…
"Are you sure about divorce?"
I pressed the phone close. "Certain. They wanted Noah dead."
Sharp intakes of breath.
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end.
I summarized what had happened—leaving out the part about my rebirth—and by the time she said she’d arrive tomorrow, a wave of relief washed over me.
"Daddy?"
Noah’s weak voice came from the bed.
I shoved the phone away, grabbing his hand.
"Noah! Hungry? Thirsty?"
"The doctor said you should eat light, so I got oatmeal. Water’s lukewarm…"
He squeezed my finger, eyes searching.
"Where’s Mommy? I want Mommy."
My throat tightened.
Outside, Amanda was… heating oatmeal. For Charlotte.
Noah followed my gaze, hopeful. "Is Mommy getting my oatmeal?"
I couldn’t shatter him. Not yet.
Amanda had been obsessed with having an O-negative baby during pregnancy. Noah inherited my A-positive blood.
She changed overnight. Became indifferent. Every birthday visit cost me.
This time, paying her to watch him ended in disaster.
Now I understood. Harrison was O-negative.
She wanted Harrison’s child, not mine.
Under Noah’s hopeful gaze, Amanda walked past our door, smiling, carrying oatmeal into Charlotte’s room.
Noah’s face fell.
I forced cheerfulness. "Want some with honey? I’ll get it!"
Sensitive Noah saw through it instantly.
"Okay, Daddy. I’m hungry."
I rushed out. He needed to see the truth before the divorce battle.
Returning with oatmeal, I heard shouting inside.
I burst in.
Thud!
The oatmeal dropped. I lunged, but too late.
Noah lay on the floor, forehead bleeding from hitting the cabinet corner.
I cradled him, pressing the wound. "Doctor! HELP!"
The girl who pushed him tried to bolt.
I scooped Noah up, blocking her. "You hurt him! You’re not leaving!"
