Chapter 4My Ghost Still Protects My Son

The elevator doors slid shut.

Toby was left in a heap on the cold porcelain floor. I knelt beside him, trying—uselessly—to gather him into my arms. I tried to lift him, to warm him, but I was nothing but a shadow.

The hospital doors were locked. No one dared to help Madeline Santiago’s son without her permission.

The blood on Toby’s lip began to dry. He tried to open his eyes, but the swelling was too much. He just curled into a ball around the blanket, the plastic crinkling softly in the silence.

The silver locket was gone, leaving only a faint red mark on his neck where it had once rested—a reminder that he had once been a precious, protected child.

I don't know how long I knelt there crying. My heart felt like it had been turned to ash.

Then, the clicking of high heels returned. Madeline was back.

She stood in the center of the lobby, looking down at Toby’s unmoving form with a look of profound boredom.

"Done playing the martyr?" she asked, her voice echoing.

"Is this what Ben taught you? How to fake an injury for sympathy?"

"You really think if you lie there long enough, I’ll feel bad? You’re dreaming."

Every word was a needle in my soul. I wanted to scream: Are you even human? How can you look at your own flesh and blood and see a conspiracy? He’s a good boy! He’s the best boy!

My tears fell onto Toby’s face. For a moment, his eyelashes fluttered.

Madeline grew slightly uneasy at his lack of response. She took a step closer.

"Toby? Stop it. Get up."

"I’m not falling for it. I see through you."

Her voice wavered, getting faster, more urgent. But as she got within a few feet, Toby’s hand twitched.

She stopped. The flash of concern on her face was instantly replaced by a fresh wave of anger. She took out her phone, snapped a few photos of his battered back, and sent them to my number.

Ben, you’re really going for it, aren't you? Using our son as a pawn? Fine. If you want him to play dead, let’s see who breaks first.

She turned on her heel and walked away.

When the lobby was silent again, Toby finally opened his eyes. He coughed, a wet, hacking sound that brought up more blood. He saw the red stains on the plastic bag of the blanket and panicked, trying to wipe them off with his sleeve.

He struggled to his feet, swaying, and began the long, agonizing trek back to the service corridor.

He found my gurney. He touched my hand, and his face went pale when he felt the ice in my skin.

With the last of his strength, he tore open the plastic, shook out the navy-blue blanket, and draped it carefully over my body.

"It’s okay, Daddy," he whispered, his voice disappearing. "You have the blanket now. You won't be cold anymore."

Then, he collapsed on top of me and went still.

The next morning, an intern’s scream shattered the hospital's silence.

"Code Blue! Someone get over here! We have a DOA in the hallway!"

Madeline pushed through the gathering crowd, her face a mask of annoyance. "What is this circus? If you wake Sebastian, I’ll have your licenses—"

She stopped.

She saw the man on the gurney. She saw the small, broken boy draped over him like a discarded doll.

And for the first time, the ice in her heart began to crack.