Chapter 1

I spent five years chasing Hugo Finn before he finally proposed.

But the month our son was born, his widowed sister-in-law Zoey Shaw showed up at our door with red-rimmed eyes. "I'm bound to a System. If you don't marry me, your wife will die in an 'accident'."

At first, Hugo laughed it off until I survived three consecutive near-fatal accidents.

Hugo broke down, gripping me tight in the ICU. "Natalie, I'll marry her only to save your life. I swear I won't touch her."

I had no choice but to agree.

But that temporary solution became Hugo's license for blatant favoritism.

At family dinners, he moved our son's favorite turducken to Zoey's plate.

When our boy spiked a 104-degree fever, Hugo was watching the Aurora lights with Zoey, claiming the System required it for her clinical depression.

He shielded her without limits, letting his friends mock me as the shameless "homewrecker" who'd trapped him with a baby.

Then, our son, Alex Finn, collapsed from acute heart failure.

I dialed Hugo with trembling hands, begging him to come sign the ECMO consent at the hospital.

The call connected. But instead of Hugo, I heard Zoey's soft whimper. "Ouch. It hurts."

Hugo muffled the receiver: "Natalie, be reasonable, okay? Zoey cut her finger while slicing apples. I can't leave. Stop teaching Alex to fake illness for attention. Once I calm her down, I'll buy you anything you want, deal?"

The dial tone droned on. Through the static, Alex's final whisper "Daddy" faded into the void.

Three days later, Hugo walked through the front door beaming, carrying a limited-edition Iron Man figure.

"Alright, stop sulking," he said, exasperated but affectionate. "Get Alex out here. I waited two hours in line for this."

The living room was tomb-silent. Waiting for him, centered on the coffee table, was a small black-and-white photograph.

*****

The hallway outside the ER was cold and empty.

I gripped the medical chart so hard my fingertips went numb and bruised.

The digital clock on the wall flashed 2 AM as the nurse opened the door hurriedly, her tone urgent.

The nurse said, "Family, your son's in acute heart failure, and he's crashing. We need to initiate ECMO immediately. I need the next of kin to sign the consent form now."

My whole body was trembling, and my hand was shaking so badly that I couldn't even sign my name.

Alex's condition was critical, and the doctor said the risks were sky-high. Both parents needed to sign off. Without Hugo's signature, any complications or rejection later would have devastating consequences.

I dialed Hugo, my hands shaking uncontrollably.

This was the thirtieth call I'd made tonight.

The first twenty-nine had all gone unanswered.

After what felt like forever, the call finally connected.

But instead of Hugo, I heard Zoey's whimper on the other end. "That really hurts."

"Don't move. I'll get some iodine to clean it," Hugo said, his voice laced with a rare mix of worry and tenderness.

My heart seized up, and I croaked out, "Hugo, Alex isn't going to make it. The doctor says he needs ECMO right now. Can you come to City General Hospital?"

There was a momentary silence on the other end.

Then Hugo's voice came through, muffled as he covered the phone, sounding a bit impatient. "Natalie, can't you calm down?

"Zoey cut her hand slicing fruit, and she's a mess right now. I can't leave her."

I bit down so hard on my lip I could taste blood, sharp and bitter. "I'm not making this up. Alex is really fighting for his life in the ER. He hasn't stopped crying out for you. Please come see him, even for a second."

"Natalie, that's enough." Hugo's voice went cold. "Stop teaching Alex to fake being sick to get my attention. This act is getting old."

"Let me settle Zoey down first. Then I'll make it up to you any way you want."

The dead tone echoed in my ear.

The nurse walked out, a hint of sympathy in her eyes as she saw me standing there, frozen. "I'm sorry, it's too late."

I turned my head stiffly.

Through the small glass window in the ER door, I watched the wavy lines on the heart monitor spike wildly a few times, then flatten into a cold, dead line.

The small body on the hospital bed lay motionless, chest no longer rising and falling.

Ten minutes ago, he was still clutching the hem of my shirt, whimpering "Daddy" in a voice so faint it was barely audible.

Now, his eyes would never open again.

I didn't cry. Not a single sound escaped me.

I stood there, motionless and numb, watching the doctors stop their compressions, then drape a white sheet over Alex's face, pale and bloodless.

It turned out that when pain hit its absolute limit, not tears would come.

My fingers went limp. The phone slipped, smashing onto the cold marble floor, screen shattering.

The display was still showing the call log with Hugo.

Thirty-five seconds. That was the length of the call.

In those thirty-five seconds, Hugo spent his time soothing another woman over a cut finger.

And in those same thirty-five seconds, he sealed his own son's fate.