Chapter 10 - THE WOMAN IN THE NICU
Dr. Collins pushed my wheelchair through the neonatal intensive care unit.
Every movement pulled at my incision.
I did not care.
My daughter lay inside an incubator beneath wires and tubes.
Her chest rose in tiny, mechanical movements.
A nurse adjusted medication while a neonatologist studied the monitor.
“What happened?”
“Sudden respiratory depression.”
Dr. Collins checked the chart.
A sedative dose had been entered under her own login.
She stared at the record.
“I did not order this.”
The medication pump still contained traces of the drug.
Someone had connected it after delivery.
Hospital security locked down the NICU.
Police searched staff members.
Hannah stood behind me with both hands over her mouth.
I pressed my fingers against the incubator.
“Please stay.”
My daughter’s hand moved.
Barely.
The neonatologist administered an antidote.
Her heart rate began recovering.
Slowly.
One beat at a time.
Dr. Collins examined the security recording.
The temporary nurse entered wearing a mask and cap.
Her face was hidden.
But as she leaned over the incubator, a silver bracelet slipped from beneath her sleeve.
Hannah gasped.
“I know that bracelet.”
It belonged to Ryan’s mother, Diane.
She had worn it at our wedding.
Diane had always defended him.
When I showed her my bruises, she said marriage required patience.
When Ryan broke my wrist, she told everyone I was dramatic.
Police found her car inside the hospital garage.
Empty.
A stairwell camera showed her changing out of the nurse uniform.
Then she disappeared into the maternity wing.
An announcement ordered all visitors to remain inside their rooms.
Dr. Collins moved me away from the incubator.
“She may still be here.”
A phone rang at the nurses’ station.
The receptionist answered.
Her face went pale.
“It’s for Emily.”
Dr. Collins placed the call on speaker.
Diane’s voice filled the room.
“You destroyed my son.”
“You tried to kill my daughter.”
“I tried to protect my family.”
“She is your family.”
“No. She is evidence.”
My fingers tightened around the wheelchair.
“Where are you?”
“Closer than you think.”
A door alarm sounded at the far end of the NICU.
Security officers ran toward it.
Dr. Collins looked at the incubator.
The distraction.
She understood first.
Diane emerged from a supply room behind us holding a syringe.
She charged toward my daughter.
I drove the wheelchair directly into her knees.
She crashed against the incubator.
The syringe flew.
Hannah tackled her.
Security officers pinned Diane to the floor.
She screamed,
“He promised me the baby!”
I stared at her.
“What?”
Diane looked toward the incubator with wild eyes.
“Ryan said Emily would die and I would raise his daughter.”
The room went silent.
Then she laughed.
“You still don’t understand.”
May you like
She looked directly at me.
“Ryan isn’t the baby’s father.”
