Chapter 8

Carissa rushed to the bed. She touched Isadore's pale cheek; his skin was terrifyingly cold.

Isadore coughed, a weak, rattling sound. He pointed a tiny finger at a bowl of pumpkin soup on the nightstand. "Hungry."

Carissa touched the bowl. It was ice cold. She immediately hit the call button.

A young maid entered a minute later, carrying a fresh, steaming bowl of soup. She rolled her eyes slightly, slammed the bowl on the table, and left.

Carissa ignored the disrespect. She picked up the heavy silver spoon, scooped up the hot liquid, and blew on it carefully.

She brought it to Isadore's lips. Her eyes were wide with desperate hope. Eat. Get strong.

Isadore swallowed obediently. But his stomach, ravaged by months of chemotherapy, immediately cramped. He winced.

Carissa was too blinded by her anxiety to notice. She quickly scooped another spoonful. And another. "Eat, baby. You have to eat to beat the sickness."

She fed him too fast. Isadore, wanting to please his mother, forced the heavy liquid down. His face turned a sickly shade of gray.

On the fifth spoonful, Isadore gagged. He pushed her hand away and let out a violent retch.

Thick, yellow vomit erupted from his mouth. It splashed all over Carissa's shirt and soaked into the pristine white blankets.

The sour, acidic stench filled the room instantly. Isadore curled into a tight ball, his face bright red, sobbing in agony as his stomach convulsed.

Carissa froze in sheer panic. She dropped the bowl, grabbing her sleeve to wipe his mouth. "Oh god, Izzy, I'm sorry-"

The nursery door slammed open. Guilford and Dr. Adler rushed in.

Guilford took one look at the vomit-covered bed and his agonizing son. A storm of pure, unadulterated fury exploded in his eyes.

He lunged forward, grabbed Carissa by the arm, and yanked her away from the bed with a fierce, panicked force. The sudden momentum made her stumble backward, her shoulder slamming into the solid mahogany wardrobe. A sharp cry of pain escaped her lips. The silver spoon clattered to the floor.

Guilford didn't even look at her. He expertly rolled Isadore onto his side to prevent him from choking on his own vomit, his hands moving with desperate precision.

Dr. Adler quickly checked the boy's vitals. After a tense minute, the doctor exhaled. "He's stable. Just severe gastric distress." He shot Carissa a look of deep reprimand.

Guilford spun around. He stalked toward Carissa like a predator, stopping inches from her face.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Guilford roared, his voice vibrating the glass in the windows. "Are you trying to kill him?"

Carissa was trembling violently, her back throbbing. A hot flash of defensive anger surged in her chest at his accusation, but the moment her eyes darted to Isadore's agonizing, tear-streaked face, the fire instantly died. The crushing weight of her own mistake suffocated her pride. "I... I just wanted him to eat. I didn't know his stomach couldn't handle it."

Guilford let out a cruel, mocking laugh. "You didn't know? Because you haven't been a mother to him for three years! You come in here, playing the devoted mom, and you almost choke him to death."

Every word was a knife twisting in her gut.

"You are as selfish and incompetent now as you were when you sold him," Guilford spat.

Tears spilled down Carissa's cheeks. Her love for her son had just been weaponized against her.

Imogene appeared in the doorway, taking in Carissa's vomit-stained clothes and Guilford's rage. A satisfied smirk played on her lips.

Guilford pointed at the door. "Get out. You are not to come within ten feet of him without the doctor present. Get out of my sight."

Carissa looked at Isadore, wanting to apologize, but Guilford's lethal glare pinned her in place.

She lowered her head, humiliated and broken, and walked out of the room under the mocking stares of the gathered staff.