My Ex Husband Treated My Son Without Knowing He Was His Chapter 01

My Ex Husband Treated My Son Without Knowing He Was His Chapter 01

“ER check-in. Pediatric.”

I shoved my health insurance card across the counter. In my arms, Liam was shaking so hard I could feel it through his pajamas.

Two a.m. at Mercy General. The ER waiting area bled white fluorescent light.

Three numbers ahead of us.

Liam’s forehead pressed against my neck. Burning up.

“Mommy, it hurts.”

“Almost there, sweetheart. Just hold on.”

I tightened my grip and glanced at my phone. The thermometer reading stared back.

103.6 degrees Fahrenheit.

They called our number.

I pushed open the exam room door with my shoulder.

The doctor had his back to me, washing his hands. White coat, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. Sleeves rolled to the forearms.

He turned around.

My feet locked to the floor.

Nathan Hayes.

I could still see it—the back of his head three years ago, walking out of the county clerk’s office after signing the divorce papers. He never once looked back.

***

Now he sat across from me. The badge on his chest read: [Nathan Hayes, MD, Associate Chief, Emergency Surgery.]

Surgery. So why the hell was he covering pediatrics?

He didn’t look at me. He looked at Liam first.

“Age?”

“Four.” I kept my voice low.

The mask covered most of my face and I’d changed my hair. There was no way he’d recognize me.

He couldn’t recognize me.

“When did the fever start?”

“Around five p.m. We gave him ibuprofen and it dropped to a hundred even, but it spiked again half an hour ago.”

He picked up the stethoscope and pressed it to Liam’s back.

Liam clung to me, nervous around strangers, burying his face in my chest.

“It’s okay. Just gotta listen for a second.” His voice was soft.

The same as it used to be.

He checked Liam’s throat, pressed on his belly, then turned back to the desk and started typing.

“Tonsillitis with pus. He needs IV fluids.”

The pen scratched across the prescription pad.

Midway, it stopped.

“Where’s his father? Didn’t come with you?”

“Not in the picture.”

Four words. Flat. Dead even.

The tip of his pen hovered over the paper for two full seconds.

Then he kept writing.

“IV will take about two hours. Observation’s down the hall to the left.”

He handed me the prescription.

Three inches between his fingertips and mine.

He never looked up. Not once.

I took the slip, turned around with Liam still in my arms.

The second I cleared the doorway, I heard the nurse’s voice behind me.

“Dr. Hayes? Your fiancée just called. She said to change the flowers for tomorrow’s engagement dinner. She wants white roses.”

Fiancée.

Engagement dinner.

I pulled Liam tighter and walked toward the end of the hall.

The observation room had only one small lamp on.

After the IV went in, Liam finally stopped burning up. He drifted off into a restless sleep.

I sat on the plastic chair beside him, watching the drip chamber. One drop. Then the next.

My phone buzzed.

Elaine: [How’s Liam?]

Me: [IV’s in. Fever’s high but he should be okay.]

Elaine: [You’re alone? Want me to come?]

Me: [No. You’ve got that meeting tomorrow.]

Elaine sent a hug emoji.

Then another message: [BTW—Apex meeting’s set for tomorrow afternoon. Round two. All the materials are prepped. Check your email.]

Me: [Got it.]

Apex Health Group. The biggest pharmaceutical distributor on the East Coast.

Land this deal and our annual revenue doubles. Just like that.

But I couldn’t think about any of that right now.

Liam grabbed my finger in his sleep.

His hand was so small. Nails trimmed neat and round.

Anyone with eyes could see who he took after.

The brow. The bridge of the nose. The curve of his lips.

Nathan Hayes, carbon copy.

Which was exactly why I never took him anywhere I might run into a Hayes.

Four years.

I’d kept this kid buried.

Four a.m. IV finished.

Liam’s temp was down to 99.5.

I wrapped him in his little blanket and lifted him up.

The exam room door was still open when we passed.

Nathan was still there.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, trying to catch a nap.

A cold cup of coffee sat on the desk. A photo was wedged next to it.

I didn’t look close enough to see who it was.

Didn’t want to.

I moved faster through the automatic doors into the night air.

The cab was waiting at the curb.

I climbed in, shut the door, and the car pulled into the empty four a.m. streets.

Liam shifted in my arms, mumbling something.

“…Daddy.”

My grip went rigid.

He’d never met his father.

But every other kid at preschool had one.

He’d asked me once, “Mommy, where did my daddy go?”

I told him Daddy went far away for work.

He never asked again.

Four years old, and he’d already learned not to push the questions that made his mom go quiet.