Chapter 3
Series 1 Chapter 3
After I told James his mother could never be alone with Eli again, he left our son with her the very next day.
He didn’t call me.
I found out when Eli’s GPS watch showed him at Margaret’s house.
The blue location dot sat on her street, twelve minutes away from his school. I stared at it until the address stopped looking like a mistake.
Then I called James.
He answered on the fourth ring. Voices murmured behind him.
“I’m about to walk into a meeting.”
“Why is Eli at Margaret’s house?”
A beat of silence.
Then he sighed. “My meeting got moved up. Mom’s watching him for an hour.”
“You promised she wouldn’t be alone with him.”
“I picked him up myself. The school didn’t break any rule.”
“You used the rule to break the boundary.”
“Anna, I don’t have time for this.”
“Then go get our son.”
“I can’t.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
James lowered his voice. “Mom promised she wouldn’t give him anything to eat. He has his own snacks, and his injector is in his backpack.”
“She also promised not to pick him up without permission.”
“That was different.”
“It’s always different when she does it.”
A chair scraped across the floor behind him. Someone called his name.
“Nothing is going to happen in one hour,” he said.
Then the line went dead.
I grabbed my purse and told my assistant I had a family emergency.
The August heat hit me as soon as I pushed through the library doors. By the time I reached my car, my blouse was sticking to my back.
I wasn’t fighting Margaret for control.
I was racing to stop two adults from using my son’s life to prove I worried too much.
Margaret lived twelve minutes away.
I made it there in nine.
Her front door stood slightly open.
“Eli?”
No answer.
Then I heard him cough.
It was dry and shallow, followed by a silence that lasted too long.
I shoved the door open.
The kitchen smelled of vanilla and warm sugar. Sunlight lay across the table, catching on spilled frosting and a bright bakery bag.
The scene should have looked harmless.
It didn’t.
Eli sat hunched in a chair, one hand clawing at his throat. Red patches spread above his collar. His lips were already beginning to swell.
A half-eaten cupcake sat in front of him.
His unopened safe snacks were still inside his backpack.
“What did he eat?”
Margaret stood beside the counter, her face drained of color.
“Just a vanilla cupcake.”
“Was it peanut-free?”
“The woman said it didn’t have peanuts.”
“Did she say peanut-free, or did she say it didn’t contain peanuts?”
Margaret looked at the bakery bag as if the answer might be printed there.
“She said it should be fine.”
Eli coughed again.
This time, the sound broke off before he could pull in another breath.
I dropped beside him.
“Mom,” he rasped.
“I’m here, baby.”
His chest jerked beneath his T-shirt. A thin whistle escaped every time he tried to inhale.
“Get his injector,” I ordered.
Margaret didn’t move.
“Now!”
She snatched up his backpack and dragged out the red emergency pouch. Her hands shook so hard that she missed the zipper twice.
I helped Eli out of the chair.
His knees folded, and his weight fell against me.
“My chest hurts,” he whispered.
“I know. Stay with me.”
Margaret finally pulled out the injector.
Then she froze.
“Give it to me.”
Her fingers closed around it. “Maybe we should wait. He might calm down.”
“This is anaphylaxis.”
“But what if we use it wrong?”
“Give me the injector.”
Eli tried to speak. Only a small, broken sound came out.
I reached toward Margaret.
She stepped back, clutching the injector to her chest.
“The needle could hurt him.”
“He can’t breathe!”
Her eyes moved between Eli and the injector, as though both choices frightened her equally.
“We should call James first.”
Eli’s body sagged heavily in my arms.
I lunged for the only thing that could save him.
Margaret tightened her grip.
My son’s knees buckled beneath him—and she still would not give me the injector.