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.
She looked toward the window where her husband, Richard Thornton, stood. Richard didn’t turn around. He was staring out at the parking lot, his knuckles white as he gripped the windowsill. He was wearing the navy blue Armani suit Beatatrice, his mother, had picked out for him. He always looked impeccable, but today his posture screamed cowardice. Richard.
A sharp, icy voice cut through the silence. Beatric Thornton stepped out from the shadows near the door. The matriarch of the Thornton real estate empire was dressed as if she were attending a board meeting, not the birth of her first grandchild. Her pearls were real. Her Chanel suit was tailored to within an inch of its life, and her expression was one of someone who had just stepped in something unpleasant.
Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Evelyn. Beatrice commanded. Evelyn tightened her hold on Leo. Beatatrice. I I didn’t know you were here. Where are the flowers? Or maybe a congratulations. Beatrice let out a dry, humorless laugh. She walked to the foot of the bed, her heels clicking ominously on the lenolium floor.
In her manicured hand, she held a thick brown envelope. Congratulations, Beatatrice scoffed. For what? For trapping my son with a child that probably isn’t even his. Evelyn felt the blood drain from her face. Excuse me. This is Richard’s son. This is your grandson. We’ll see about that, Beatrice said, tossing the envelope onto the bed. It landed heavily against Evelyn’s legs.
But that is a matter for the lawyers. This,” she pointed, a jagged red fingernail at the envelope, “is for now. Sign it.” Evelyn’s hands trembled as she reached for the envelope. She opened the clasp, pulling out a stack of legal documents. The bold text at the top made her breath hitch. “Petition for dissolution of marriage.
” “Divorce!” Evelyn gasped, looking from the papers to Richard’s back. “Rick, what is this? We just we just had a baby. Richard finally turned around. His face was pale, his eyes avoiding hers. I’m sorry, Eve. Mother thinks, I mean, we think it’s for the best. For the best? Evelyn’s voice rose, cracking with emotion. I just gave birth an hour ago.
