Chapter 5 - A Mother’s Choice
Standing in that dim hallway, torn between fury at my husband and pity for a dying newborn, I realized the gravity of the nightmare we were trapped in. Tyler had made a reckless, terrifying gamble. He thought he was being a hero, but in reality, he had backed our entire family into a corner.
I walked back down the stairs to the living room. Dorothy was hovering over the cradle, rocking it with trembling hands. I walked over, knelt down, and looked closely at the infant girl.
Her tiny chest was heaving, her breathing shallow. Her lips had a faint purplish tint. My instincts as a mother screamed louder than any grudge or hurt pride.
"She has an infection," I said plainly. "Her fever is spiking, Dorothy. Breast milk can give her antibodies, but it cannot cure sepsis or severe dehydration. If we keep her here another night without medical intervention, she won't wake up tomorrow."
Dorothy broke down, covering her face with her apron. "What do we do, Brenda? If Marcus tracks her..."
"Marcus doesn't own every hospital in this state," I snapped, standing up with sudden clarity. "I have a cousin, Sarah. She’s a pediatric nurse practitioner at St. Jude’s Memorial, forty miles north, across the county line. Marcus doesn't have connections there. We take Chloe and the baby there tonight, under an alias if necessary, but under strict medical care."
Tyler hurried down the stairs, staring at me in awe and shame. "Brenda... you'd do that? After everything I hid from you?"
"I’m doing this for an innocent baby and a terrified girl," I said coldly, looking straight through him. "Do not confuse my humanity for forgiveness, Tyler. What you did broke my trust. We will deal with our marriage later. Right now, go get the car."
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Within ten minutes, we wrapped Chloe in a heavy winter coat, bundled the fragile infant into a portable car seat, and slipped out the back door into the biting night chill. As Tyler pulled out of the driveway, headlights suddenly swept across the street corner half a block away.
A black pickup truck was idling near Dorothy’s mailbox, its engine rumbling like a low growl in the darkness.
