Just hours after my C-section, while the anesthesia was still numbing my body and my newborn twins lay against my chest, she burst into my private suite, a thick stack of papers in her hand.
“Sign immediately,” she ordered. “You don’t deserve to live like this. And you’re certainly incapable of raising two babies.”
The recovery room at St. Mary’s Medical Pavilion looked more like a luxury hotel than a medical facility. At my request, the nurses had discreetly removed the lavish floral arrangements sent by colleagues from the Attorney General’s office and several federal collaborators. I had tried hard to maintain the illusion of being a simple freelance home-based worker for my husband’s family. It was safer that way.
Beside me, my twins, Noah and Nora, slept peacefully. The emergency surgery had been excruciating, but holding them in my arms erased all the pain.
Suddenly, the door burst open.
Margaret Whitmore entered, enveloped in designer perfume and unbearable arrogance. Her gaze swept the room with obvious contempt.
"A private suite?" she sneered, tapping the hospital bed with the tip of her shoe. A sharp pain shot through my stomach. "My son works himself to exhaustion so you can lounge in silk sheets? You have no shame."
She threw the papers onto my tablet.
“Karen can’t have children,” she said sharply. “She needs an heir. You’ll give her one of the twins. The boy. You can keep the girl.”
For several seconds, I couldn’t understand what she’d just said.
“You’ve lost your mind,” I murmured. “They’re my children.”
“Stop acting like a hysteric,” she snapped, heading toward Noah’s crib. “You’re clearly overwhelmed. Karen’s waiting downstairs.”
When her hand reached out to him, a primal force stirred within me.
“Don’t touch my son!”
Ignoring the throbbing pain of my scar, I sat bolt upright. She whirled around and slapped me. My head hit the crib rail with a thud.
“Ungrateful wretch!” she hissed, lifting Noah, who started to cry. “I’m his grandmother.” "I'm the one who decides what's best for him."
My fingers trembling, I pressed the alarm button mounted next to my bed.
The alarms blared instantly. Moments later, hospital security burst in, led by Chief Daniel Ruiz.
Margaret's demeanor changed completely in the blink of an eye.
"She's unstable!" she exclaimed emphatically. "She tried to hurt the baby!"
Chief Ruiz took in the scene: my split lip, my fragile state after the surgery, and then the elegantly dressed woman clutching my crying son in her arms.
His gaze met mine.
It froze.
"Judge Carter?" he whispered.
