Chapter 2

The collection room was sterile and cold. Mark stood over the phlebotomist, his voice sharp.

"Take as much as you need. Don't worry about her."

The young woman looked from Mark's harsh face to my pale one. "Sir, we can only safely take one pint. Mrs. Miller is still recovering from major surgery."

Mark's face twisted in fury.

"I don't care. Do you understand me? Dr. Reed is dying. If she can't give enough, go to my son's room. He's healthy. Take his blood."

The air left my lungs. He would drain our son, our broken little boy, to save that woman. He would sacrifice his own child without a second thought.

The room started to spin. The beeping of the machines faded into a long, low hum. The last thing I saw was Mark's impatient face before everything went black.

I woke up in my hospital bed. Mark was sitting in the chair beside me, his head in his hands. He looked up when I stirred.

"Sarah. My God. I am so sorry," he said, his voice thick with what sounded like remorse. "I was just so scared of losing her. I wasn't thinking."

I stared at him, my heart a dead weight in my chest. He wasn't sorry. He was just annoyed that I had fainted and delayed his plan.

He must have seen the emptiness in my eyes, because he changed his tactic. He sighed, running a hand through his perfect hair.

"Maybe this is all a sign," he said softly. "Maybe we need a fresh start. Liam... he requires so much care. There are facilities, excellent ones, that can look after him. And we... we could move on."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Olivia's son, Ethan... he's a wonderful boy. So bright and healthy. We could adopt him. We could be a family again, Sarah. A whole family."

My blood ran cold. He wanted to discard our son like a broken toy and replace him with his mistress's child.

But in his monstrous suggestion, I saw my way out.

I let a single tear roll down my cheek. "Maybe... maybe you're right, Mark," I whispered, my voice trembling. "It's just so hard. I'm so tired."

Relief washed over his face. He thought he had broken me. He thought I would bend to his will.

"I knew you'd understand," he said, patting my hand. "I'll go make some calls. Start the arrangements."

He was so sure of himself that he left his phone on the bedside table when he walked out. My fingers closed around it. My hands were shaking, but my mind was sharp.

I unlocked it easily. His password was Ethan's birthday.

The home screen was a picture of him, Olivia, and a smiling boy, all posed like a perfect family at the beach. My breath hitched. He had been living a whole other life.

I scrolled through his files, my stomach churning. I didn't know what I was looking for, but I knew I had to find something. And then I saw it. A video file labeled 'LIAM_INCIDENT'.

With a trembling finger, I pressed play.

It was security footage from our kitchen. I saw Olivia kneeling, talking to her son, Ethan. She held a box of peanut butter crackers. I couldn't hear the words, but I saw her point toward the living room, where Liam was playing. She put the cracker in Ethan's hand and gave him a little push.

Ethan walked into the living room and offered the cracker to Liam. My sweet, trusting boy took it with a smile.

The proof. It wasn't an accident. It was a deliberate, calculated act of evil.

I immediately forwarded the video to a secure email address I created. Then, I opened a new browser and typed a name.

Dr. Ben Carter.

He was my friend from college, now a top neurosurgeon in Switzerland. I sent him a short, encrypted message.

"Ben, it's Sarah. I'm in trouble. My son is hurt. I need to get out. Can you help me?"

I deleted the app and cleared the browser history just as Mark walked back in, smiling.

"It's all taken care of," he said.

I looked past him, out the window. In the hospital garden below, Mark was handing a large, brightly wrapped gift to Ethan. He swung the little boy up into his arms, laughing.

And in his room down the hall, my son Liam sat alone, staring at a blank wall.