Chapter 1

The harsh fluorescent lights of the small clinic hummed, a sound that drilled into my skull. My son, Leo, was on a gurney, his small chest heaving with shallow, ragged breaths. His face was swollen, his skin a terrifying shade of blue.

"Anaphylactic shock," the doctor said, his voice grim. "He needs epinephrine, now."

He held up a single auto-injector, a new, powerful dose. It was the only one they had. My heart seized. Just one.

As he turned to administer it, the clinic doors burst open. My husband, Matthew, rushed in, but he wasn't looking at our son. He was supporting a woman, Tara Lawrence. She was whimpering, dabbing at her eyes.

"Doctor, help her!" Matthew yelled, his voice echoing with a frantic energy he never showed for me or Leo. "It's Tara, Coach Lawrence's daughter. She ate some bad shrimp, she's having a reaction!"

The doctor glanced at Tara, then back at Leo, whose breathing was getting weaker. "Sir, your son is in critical condition. He needs this."

"Give it to her," Matthew commanded, stepping between the doctor and Leo's gurney.

I stared at him, my mind refusing to process his words. "Matthew, what are you doing? Look at him! Leo can't breathe!"

Matthew waved a dismissive hand, his eyes fixed on Tara. "He's always dramatic with that allergy, Jen. You know that. Tara's father was like a second dad to me. I can't let anything happen to her."

Tara coughed weakly, leaning into Matthew's chest. "Oh, Matt, it feels like my throat is closing up."

The doctor was firm. "Ma'am, your vitals are stable. Your reaction is minor. This boy," he pointed a shaking finger at Leo, "is dying."

"I said give it to her!" Matthew's voice boomed, the old high school quarterback taking command. He grabbed the doctor's arm, his grip like iron. "Are you going to disrespect the memory of Coach Lawrence? After everything he did for this town? For me?"

He forced the injector from the doctor's hand and pushed it toward Tara. The doctor, a small, older man, was too intimidated to resist.

"No!" I screamed, lunging forward, but Matthew shoved me back. I stumbled, my head hitting the wall.

"Stay out of this, Jennifer," he snarled. "You're just making a scene."

I watched in pure, cold horror as the life-saving medicine meant for my son was wasted on a woman with a mild case of hives. The finality of it hit me like a physical blow. Leo' s tiny gasps were fading.

The doctor looked at me, his face a mask of pity and helplessness. "The next hospital is forty miles away. You have to go now."

My world had already ended. I just hadn't realized it yet.