A nurse adjusted Liam’s blanket while another checked Maya’s monitors.
It should have been the happiest first night of my son’s life with me.
Instead, I was learning the difference between sending support and making sure it arrived.
Then a new message appeared, this one from Chloe.
“Your cards aren’t working.
Fix it NOW.
The hotel thinks we’re trying to skip the bill.”
For the first time, I understood that my family had noticed the money disappearing before they noticed a newborn and his recovering mother had been left alone without heat.
PART 3
At sunrise, Julian arrived in a dark overcoat with his hair still damp from the snow.
He had been my friend since law school, although I had chosen engineering while he stayed with the law.
He carried coffee, a portable charger, and a folder divided by colored tabs.
“Before we talk about your mother,” he said, “tell me what Maya needs.”
The question stopped me.
