Panic began to set in. Leo was shivering, and Noah' s breathing was shallow. I pressed the call button, but no one came. I ran into the hallway, grabbing the first nurse I saw.
"My sons, they' re not well. They' re bleeding."
"The doctors are all with Miss Vance' s daughter," she said dismissively. "I' ll check on them when I can."
I ran back to the room. The bleeding was getting worse. I tried calling Julian. It went straight to voicemail. I tried again. And again. On the tenth try, he finally picked up. The sound of clinking glasses and loud music filled the background.
"What is it, Elara? I' m busy."
"Julian, the boys are in trouble! They' re bleeding, they have a fever. You need to get a doctor here now!"
"Stop being so dramatic," he sighed, his voice thick with annoyance. "You' re always making things bigger than they are. They' re fine. Don' t bother me with this. I' m at a gala celebrating Penelope' s miraculous recovery."
He hung up.
I stared at the phone in disbelief. A gala? My sons were fighting for their lives, and he was at a party.
Desperate, I decided to get them to another hospital myself. I ran outside to find a car. All the Thorne family drivers were gone. I called the head driver.
"Sorry, Mrs. Thorne. Mr. Thorne has us all busy. I' m on my way to SoHo to pick up some macarons for Miss Vance. Another driver is getting her a specific brand of sparkling water."
Trivial errands for Scarlett. My sons' lives were worth less than French pastries.
Rage gave me a strength I didn' t know I possessed. I went back, scooped up my two boys, one in each arm. They were semi-conscious, their small bodies limp against me. I carried them out of that cursed hospital and into the pouring rain.
The streets of Manhattan were a blur of neon and water. I stood on the curb, my clothes soaked, my sons bleeding in my arms, trying to hail a cab. People stared, but no one stopped. I was just another crazy woman in the rain.
Finally, a taxi pulled over. "Saint Vincent' s Public Hospital," I gasped. "Hurry."