PART 3 — We Can’t Stay Here
I didn’t sleep that night.
Even with the pain medication dripping into my arm and the nurses checking on me every few hours, I kept my eyes open. Every time the door opened, my body tensed. Every time footsteps passed in the hallway, I reached for Rebecca’s hand under the blanket.
She had fallen asleep in the chair beside my bed, still wearing the same purple hoodie, her small hand wrapped tightly around mine. Ethan slept in the bassinet between us. Every few minutes I would glance at him, just to make sure he was still breathing.
Around 3 a.m., Rebecca stirred.
“Mom?” she whispered.
“I’m here.”
She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. For a moment she looked like a normal eight-year-old again. Then the memory of what happened returned to her face.
“Did they come back?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “Not yet.”
Rebecca was quiet for a while. Then she spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Dad wants Ethan because of the money.”
I turned my head to look at her.
“What money?”
She hesitated, like she was trying to find the right words.
“Last month, when I followed Dad after school, I heard him talking to the man with the scar in the parking lot. The man said something about ‘the trust’ and ‘once the baby is born, we can access it.’ Dad looked scared. He kept saying he didn’t want to hurt anyone, but the other man told him it was too late to back out.”
My stomach twisted.
David had always been greedy, but this felt different. This felt organized.
“What trust?” I asked.
Rebecca shook her head.
“I don’t know. But they kept saying Ethan’s name. And they said something about Grandma’s will.”
My mother.
She had passed away two years ago. In her will, she left most of her estate to me, but there was a clause I had barely paid attention to at the time — something about any future grandchildren. I had been too busy dealing with the divorce to read the fine print carefully.
Now it was coming back to haunt me.
Rebecca continued, her voice small but steady.
“Dad said if something happened to Ethan, the money would go to him instead. The man with the scar told him they had to be careful. That’s when I started recording things on my watch.”
I closed my eyes for a second, trying to process everything.
My ex-husband was working with dangerous people to steal my newborn son — either for money or something worse.
And my eight-year-old daughter had been carrying this secret alone for weeks.
I reached over and touched her cheek.
“You should have told me sooner,” I said gently.
“I tried,” she whispered. “But every time I started, you looked so tired. And I was scared Dad would find out I knew.”
I pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head.
“You did the right thing,” I told her. “You saved your brother tonight.”
She didn’t answer, but I felt her relax slightly against me.
We stayed like that for a while until I finally spoke again.
“We can’t stay here.”
Rebecca looked up.
“The hospital?”
I nodded.
“If David and that man are willing to walk into a hospital room in the middle of the day, then they’re not afraid of getting caught. And if they have people working here…” I didn’t finish the sentence.
Rebecca understood anyway.
She glanced at Ethan.
“Where will we go?”
I thought for a moment.
“We need to get somewhere safe first. Then we need to figure out exactly what your father is involved in.” I paused. “Do you still have that photo on your watch?”
Rebecca nodded and held up her wrist. The small screen lit up when she tapped it. She scrolled until she found the picture of David and the scarred man standing together.
I took a photo of it with my phone and immediately sent it to myself, then deleted the message in case someone checked my phone later.
Then I made a decision.
I pressed the call button.
A few minutes later, a night nurse came in. She was older, with kind eyes and gray hair pulled into a bun. Her name tag read Margaret.
“Everything okay, sweetheart?” she asked.
I kept my voice calm.
“I need to speak with the doctor on call. It’s important.”
Margaret studied my face for a moment, then nodded.
“I’ll page him.”
While we waited, I turned to Rebecca.
“Whatever happens next, I need you to stay close to me. If anyone tries to separate us, you scream. Understand?”
She nodded firmly.
The doctor arrived fifteen minutes later. He was young and looked exhausted. I didn’t waste time.
“I want to be discharged,” I said.
He blinked.
“You had major surgery less than twenty-four hours ago. You lost a significant amount of blood. You’re not ready to leave.”
“I’ll sign whatever papers I need to,” I said. “But I’m not staying here another night.”
The doctor glanced at Rebecca, then back at me. Something in my expression must have convinced him I wasn’t going to change my mind.
“I’ll need to speak with the attending,” he said carefully. “And we’ll have to make sure you have proper care arranged at home.”
I nodded.
As soon as he left, I started moving.
Rebecca helped me sit up. Every movement hurt, but I forced myself through it. I changed out of the hospital gown into the clothes I had packed in my bag — loose sweatpants and an oversized sweater. Getting dressed took almost twenty minutes and left me sweating and shaking.
Rebecca packed Ethan’s things with surprising efficiency, folding the tiny onesies and placing them in the diaper bag.
By the time the doctor returned with discharge papers, I was already sitting in the wheelchair they insisted I use, Ethan in my arms and Rebecca standing beside me.
The doctor looked concerned.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked quietly.
I met his eyes.
“My son isn’t safe here.”
He didn’t argue after that. He signed the papers quickly and gave me instructions for wound care and follow-up appointments. I barely listened.
As we wheeled toward the elevator, Rebecca stayed close to my side, one hand resting on the bassinet. Her eyes kept scanning the hallway.
We made it to the ground floor without incident.
The automatic doors slid open, and cold night air hit my face. It was almost 5 a.m. The sky was still dark.
I had already called for a rideshare. The car was waiting at the curb.
We were almost there when I heard footsteps behind us.
I turned.
A man in a dark jacket was walking quickly toward us from the side of the building. He wasn’t wearing scrubs. He wasn’t wearing a visitor badge.
Rebecca saw him at the same time I did.
“Mom,” she said urgently.
I pushed the wheelchair faster.
The man started jogging.
We reached the car just as he broke into a run.
“Get in!” I told Rebecca.
She yanked open the back door and climbed inside. I handed Ethan to her, then forced myself into the front seat despite the burning pain in my stomach.
The driver looked confused.
“Ma’am, are you—”
“Drive,” I said sharply. “Now.”
He hesitated for half a second, then pulled away from the curb.
In the side mirror, I watched the man in the dark jacket stop at the edge of the sidewalk. He didn’t chase the car. He simply stood there, watching us leave.
As we merged onto the main road, Rebecca spoke from the backseat.
“That was him,” she said quietly. “One of the men Dad was talking to.”
I closed my eyes for a second.
We weren’t safe.
Not at the hospital.
Not on the streets.
And probably not at my apartment either.
I turned to look at my daughter in the backseat. She was holding Ethan carefully, her small arms wrapped protectively around his carrier.
“Where are we going, Mom?” she asked.
I didn’t have a good answer.
But I knew one thing for certain.
We couldn’t go home.
I pulled out my phone and opened the contacts. My thumb hovered over a name I hadn’t called in almost a year.
My older sister, Claire.
She lived two hours away in a small town. She had never liked David. And more importantly, she had never been afraid to fight.
I pressed the call button.
It rang three times before she answered, voice thick with sleep.
“Hello?”
“Claire,” I said. “It’s me. I need your help.”
There was a pause.
Then her voice sharpened.
“What happened?”
I looked back at Rebecca and Ethan in the rearview mirror.
“Everything,” I said. “I’ll explain when we get there. But we’re coming to you. And we might have people following us.”
Claire didn’t hesitate.
“Come,” she said. “I’ll be waiting.”
I ended the call and gave the driver new directions.
As the car sped down the highway, I kept checking the mirrors. No one seemed to be following us yet.
But I knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long.
David wanted my son.
The man with the scar wanted my son.
And they had already proven they were willing to walk into a hospital to take him.
I reached back and rested my hand on Ethan’s carrier.
Over my dead body.
Rebecca covered my hand with hers.
May you like
We drove through the dark toward my sister’s house, not knowing if we were running toward safety…
Or straight into something worse.
