The Blind Box That Cost Me Everything Chapter 03

The Blind Box That Cost Me Everything Chapter 03

My daughter hit 103.6.

I ran into the ER with her in my arms, frantically filling out the forms as they rushed her back. I couldn’t stop shaking.

The doctor pulled off his stethoscope and frowned.

“She’s malnourished. Severely underweight. Her immune system is barely functioning.”

He looked up at me, and his voice went hard. “How does a newborn end up like this? What are her parents doing?”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

What were we doing?

My daughter and I were surviving on pocket change.

I called Gavin.

He actually showed up.

Something in my chest loosened, just a fraction.

In three years of marriage, I had never begged him for anything. I begged him now.

“She needs specialized formula and supplements. Can we please just stop with the mystery boxes? Just give me a normal allowance.”

He studied me for a long moment. Then he pulled a card from his pocket and flicked it at me.

“Two grand. That should cover it.”

“It’s not enough. The doctor said she needs follow-up tests, and…”

His jaw tightened.

“I paid your family a 1.88 million-dollar settlement and that wasn’t enough. Now two thousand isn’t enough either?”

“Your family rigged those mystery boxes to bleed me dry. And now you want to cry about money?”

“I didn’t rig those mystery boxes!”

I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“My parents did it behind my back! They wanted the money for Bianca’s wedding and her house. I had nothing to do with it!”

Gavin went still. Then he laughed.

“God, Maren. Is there anything you won’t say to get money out of me?”

“First the baby’s sick, now your parents are the villains. What’s the next story?”

He looked down at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

“Having a kid doesn’t give you leverage over me. You think I can’t tell when you’re faking it? You think I don’t see right through you?”

His phone rang before the words were even cold.

The screen lit up. Bianca.

He picked up, and his whole voice changed. “Hey, you’re here? Which room? I’m coming right now.”

He hung up and walked away. He didn’t look at me once.

He hadn’t come for us at all.

He was here for Bianca’s baby.

I stood in the hallway holding my screaming daughter and watched him turn the corner without looking back.

Later, I was standing outside the hospital.

“Maren.” Bianca was right behind me.

Her baby was plump and pink, wrapped in a designer onesie.

Her gaze dropped to my daughter, pale and bony in my arms. Something moved across her face. Not pity. Something worse.

She turned to the maternity nurse beside her, pulled a can of formula from the diaper bag, and held it out.

“My baby can’t get through all of it. You should take this.”

“Gavin felt so bad for us, you know, a widow and a baby on our own. He bought us a year’s supply.”

I looked at the can. Eighteen hundred dollars.

My daughter’s entire monthly allowance wouldn’t cover a single scoop of what Bianca’s baby drank.

I dug my nails into my palm and took it.

I called my mom that night.

“Mom, the baby needs to be hospitalized. Can you lend me something? Just until I figure this out?”

Silence. Long enough that I almost checked if the call had dropped.

“Bianca just had a baby too, you know. She needs money just as much. Ask your husband!”

“Mom…”

“Enough. Stop calling every five minutes. Bianca’s still recovering, and you’re stressing her out.”

She hung up on me.

I fell asleep on the couch that night with my daughter in my arms.

Sometime in the dark, someone draped a blanket over me.

Through half-closed eyes, I saw Gavin bending over me. His hands were careful, like he was afraid of waking us.

By morning, a fresh stack of mystery boxes sat on the dining table.

He sat across from me with his coffee and nodded toward the pile. “Draw one.”

I stared at the boxes. Something inside me just shut off.

“I’m done, Gavin. I’m not drawing anymore.”

His coffee cup stopped halfway to his mouth.

He set it down and looked at me. “So what’s the play this time? Last time it was the sick baby. What are we doing today?”

I didn’t answer.

I turned around and made a bottle from Bianca’s formula for my daughter.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I checked it.

Talia: [Maren, I don’t know if I should say this, but…]

The typing indicator pulsed.

My daughter started crying again from the living room.

I grabbed the thermometer.

104.2.

I killed my phone, grabbed my daughter, and ran out the door.