Chapter 2 - The Doorbell On Oakwood Drive And The Golden Collar
Discharge day was a waking nightmare of burning stitches and suffocating fear.
My surgical scar burned like raw fire beneath the waistband of my sweatpants.
Every single step I took down the hospital corridor sent sharp, nauseating cramps through my lower abdomen.
Yet I had to carry Chloe’s infant car seat with my left arm while clutching the hospital bag with my right.
The doctor had handed me two portable nebulizers and three prescriptions for pediatric bronchodilators.
The pharmacy cashier looked at me with pity when my debit card declined twice for the nebulizer ampoules.
I had to scrape together spare change and borrow sixty dollars from an elderly stranger in the waiting room just to get Chloe’s medicine for forty-eight hours.
By the time we made it to the battered sedan in the parking lot, sweat was soaking my collar.
Chloe was wheezing softly, her little mouth forming silent cries because she didn't have the breath to scream.
I could not let my baby suffocate while Eric lived in luxury with the money we had built together.
I turned the ignition and drove straight toward the wealthy gated community on Oakwood Drive.
Eric had moved into a sprawling modern rental home that cost four thousand dollars a month.
He was driving a leased convertible, bragging on social media about his new luxury lifestyle.
I pulled up to the stone driveway, my hands cramping around the steering wheel.
Every single porch step tore at my healing abdominal incision as I carried Chloe’s carrier up to the double mahogany doors.
The heavy brass knocker felt icy against my palm.
I knocked once, then twice, leaning against the doorframe to keep myself from collapsing.
Footsteps echoed inside on hardwood floors.
The door swung open, revealing Vanessa Kane wrapped in an oversized silk button-down shirt that I recognized as Eric’s favorite birthday gift from me.
Her freshly manicured nails gripped a glass of mimosa.
She looked down at my disheveled hair, my stained sweatpants, and the infant carrier resting on the welcome mat.
A slow, cruel smirk spread across her lips.
"Eric, babe!" she yelled over her shoulder without breaking eye contact. "Your baby mama’s here looking for another handout!"
Eric walked into the foyer wearing designer linen pants, carrying a leather briefcase.
He saw me and immediately scowled, his posture stiffening with disgust.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he snapped, stepping onto the porch. "I told you to lose this address."
"Just look at her, Eric," I begged, lowering the hood of the car seat so he could see his daughter’s pale, translucent skin.
"I’m not asking for money for myself. I haven't eaten a full meal in three days."
"She needs specialized pediatric treatments or her airway could collapse."
"Give me back just five thousand dollars of our savings account so she doesn't end up back on life support."
Vanessa leaned against Eric’s shoulder, sipping her drink with theatrical amusement.
"Oh please, the guilt-tripping is so tacky," Vanessa giggled. "You should have thought about medical bills before trapping him."
Eric looked down at Chloe’s face for a fraction of a second, his expression utterly blank.
There was no flicker of warmth, no biological recognition, no guilt.
He let out an exaggerated breath of annoyance.
"I have a new life now, Maya. I have clients coming over in twenty minutes."
"Stop showing up on my doorstep with your little brat."
Before I could utter another syllable, Eric slammed the heavy mahogany door shut in our faces.
The click of the deadbolt sounded like a gunshot in the midday quiet.
A moment later, I heard their muffled laughter drifting from the second-story balcony.
I stood there on the porch mat, holding Chloe against my shaking chest while silent tears blinded my vision.
My surgical wound was throbbing, sending sharp streaks of agony down my thighs.
I stumbled back to my car, placed Chloe safely in the back seat, and collapsed behind the steering wheel.
I wept until my throat was completely raw and my eyes could barely focus on the road ahead.
There was nowhere left for me to turn.
My own parents had passed away years ago, leaving me with no safety net and no relatives to lean on.
My bank account was completely emptied.
My daughter’s breath was growing shallower with every passing hour.
Sitting in the car at a red light, my hand hovered over the contact list on my cracked phone screen.
There was only one number left that I had avoided calling for nearly five years.
Barbara Vance.
Eric’s estranged, notoriously cold mother.
May you like
She was a woman who had never approved of me, never attended our modest wedding, and had maintained an icy distance from our lives.
I took a ragged breath, dialed the number, and listened to the phone ring into the unknown.
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