She deserved at least one person in this world who wouldn’t abandon her, and I was ready to be that person.
Last week, Wrenna developed a fever. Not just a little one that you can manage with a cool cloth and some baby medicine. A full-blown, burning-up fever that made her tiny body feel like it was on fire. I panicked and rushed her to the emergency room at Mercy Hospital, praying the doctors could help.
The rain was pouring down so hard that I could barely see through my windshield. I somehow managed to carry her through the sliding doors, clutching my purse and diaper bag firmly. I wanted the doctor to see my little girl as soon as possible.
However, when I reached the waiting room, it was absolutely crowded. There were people everywhere, coughing, groaning, and staring at their phones.
I found a seat near the back, set Wrenna in her stroller, and checked her forehead again. It was still burning. She was whimpering, then crying, and the tiny sound echoed off those cold, sterile walls.
My heart was in my throat. I felt so bad for my little baby.
“Shh, sweetheart, Grandma’s here,” I whispered to her. “Just a little longer, baby. Just a little longer.”
And that’s when he appeared.
The man wearing a Rolex.
He was wearing an expensive white suit and a gleaming watch that probably cost more than my car. He had this energy that screamed entitlement.
