The nurse had just placed the warm, crying bundle of joy into Evelyn’s arms. She was exhausted, sweaty, and happier than she had ever been in her life. She looked up, expecting to see tears of joy in her husband’s eyes. Instead, she saw his mother standing at the foot of the bed holding a manila envelope. Beatrice didn’t ask to hold the baby.
She didn’t ask how Evelyn was. She simply threw the envelope onto Evelyn’s legs. “Sign it, Evelyn,” she sneered. “The paternity test is pending, but the divorce is non-negotiable.” Evelyn looked at her husband, Richard, silently, begging him to say something. He just checked his watch. They thought they were discarding a poor, helpless orphan.
They had no idea they had just declared war on the owner of the very hospital they were standing in. The sterile smell of the hospital room usually brought people comfort, a sign of cleanliness, of care. But in room 402 of St. Jude’s Medical Center, the air was thick with a toxicity that no disinfectant could scrub away. Evelyn Sterling lay back against the pillows, her body aching with a profound, bone deep weariness.
It had been 14 hours of labor, 14 hours of agony to bring a new life into the world. In her arms lay Leo, a tiny red-faced miracle wrapped in a standard issue hospital blanket. His little chest rose and fell in a rhythm that should have stopped the world. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he, Rick?” Evelyn whispered, her voice raspy.
