Chapter 3

Pounding against the bedroom window, the rain sounded like gravel.

Curled tightly on his side, Micah clutched his right ear.

Heat radiated from his small body.

For a deaf child, the pressure of an acute ear infection is a terrifying trap.

Dialing Ross's number, I waited for three agonizing rings.

"I'm in a meeting," came the irritated whisper on the other end.

"Micah has a fever," I said. "I need you to drive us to the hospital."

"Take a cab, Erin. I can't walk out on this."

A sharp click ended the call.

Wrapped in a heavy blanket, my son felt painfully fragile against my chest out in the storm.

Pressing his face into my wet coat, he made no sound.

The pediatric emergency room was overflowing with patients.

After forty minutes of standing in line, a nurse directed us down the hall.

Near the private triage rooms, my footsteps suddenly halted.

Through the glass door, a familiar figure came into view.

Instead of his work suit, Ross wore a casual sweater.

Resting on his lap was a child.

Practiced hands rubbed the boy's back to soothe him.

It was Leo.

Standing beside them, Priya leaned her head affectionately against my husband's shoulder.

At the sound of a small cough, Ross immediately handed the boy a cup of water.

Worry etched deep lines into his face.

That was the devoted father my son had always begged for.

Shifting against my chest, Micah opened his heavy eyes.

Following my gaze, he saw the tender scene inside the room.

No tears fell from his eyes.

Micah reached up weakly, his fingers moving against my wet shirt.

[Mom, that boy can hear, right?]

My breath caught in my throat.

[Is that why Dad likes him?] His small hands faltered before continuing. [Are my ears too broken?]

Those silent words tore through my chest.

Refusing to storm into the room, I simply covered my son's eyes.

I stepped back into the shadows, and a strange calmness washed over me.

With a steady hand, I recorded a ten-second video through the glass.

Without looking back, I carried my son out into the rain.

Hours later, the house was dead silent.

Leaving a sleeping Micah tucked in his bed, I stepped out onto the dark porch.

The cold night wind felt like a wake-up call.

I scrolled through my phone and pulled up the contact card the divorce lawyer had given me that morning.

The line rang twice before a gruff voice answered.

"I need a private investigator," I stated, staring out at the empty driveway.

A notepad rustled on the other end.

"Ross Marsh. And a woman named Priya Raval," I instructed, my voice devoid of any emotion.

"I want her background completely checked. Financials, property records, and the hospital birth certificate of her son, Leo."

Once I agreed to the retainer fee, the call ended.