Chapter 3 - Four Pounds of Fighting Spirit
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When I opened my eyes, the harsh fluorescent lights of the recovery room stung my vision. My chest and arm were tightly wrapped in thick medical bandages, throbbing with a dull, constant ache.
A nurse rushed over. “Elena, don't try to move too quickly.”
“My baby...” I rasped, my throat raw from the breathing tube. “Is she...”
“She’s alive,” the nurse said gently, smiling. “She’s in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. She was born six weeks early, weighing four pounds two ounces, but she’s a fighter.”
Tears overflowed my eyes, soaking into my pillow. Clara was alive.
An hour later, they wheeled my bed down to the NICU. Through the clear acrylic wall of an incubator, I saw her. She was impossibly tiny, her chest rising and falling beneath delicate sensors, a tiny knitted yellow cap covering her head.
Julian was already standing by the incubator, talking to a pediatrician.
“I just want to be the best father I can be, doctor,” Julian was saying in a soft, heartbroken voice. “My wife’s accident was so sudden. I haven’t slept a wink.”
The pediatrician patted his shoulder sympathetically. “You’re doing great, Mr. Bennett. She’s stable.”
When the doctor walked away, Julian turned to face my wheelchair. The gentle smile vanished from his lips instantly.
“She looks weak,” Julian muttered, staring down at our daughter. “Just like her mother.”
“Don’t talk about her,” I whispered, my voice cold as ice.
“I spoke to the insurance company,” Julian continued, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “The hospital bills are going to be astronomical. We need cash, Elena. As soon as you're discharged, we are putting your father's house on the market.”
I stared at him, feeling the fiery sting of my burns beneath the bandages.
“No,” I said firmly.
May you like
Julian sneered, stepping closer to my wheelchair. “You almost lost your life today because you wouldn't listen to me. Don't push your luck, Elena.”
He thought he had won. He thought he had destroyed the evidence when he unplugged the pantry camera. He had no idea that my father was always three steps ahead of men like him.
