Chapter 2 - The Call
The hospital called me at 11:47 p.m. while I was standing in the hallway of a Seattle hotel, still wearing my conference badge and shoes that had been hurting for three hours.
I had just stepped out of a client dinner and was mentally rehearsing the presentation that might save my job the next morning. The carpet beneath my feet had gold vine patterns. Someone laughed near the elevator. Ice rattled inside a bucket.
Then my phone rang.
Phoenix number.
“Is this Abigail Thompson?” a woman asked.
“Yes.”
“This is St. Anthony Children’s Hospital. Your son, Hunter Thompson, has been admitted in critical condition.”
The hallway seemed to stretch forever.
“What happened?” I whispered.
The nurse was quiet for too long.
“Ma’am… you need to come right away.”
I do not remember getting back to my room. I remember my purse dropping. I remember my hands shaking so hard that I dropped my phone twice before I managed to call my mother.
She was supposed to be taking care of Hunter for three days.
My sitter had canceled. My ex-husband was deployed overseas. I had convinced myself that leaving Hunter with my mother and younger sister would be safe enough, even though something in my stomach had twisted when I packed his dinosaur pajamas and favorite blue blanket.
My mother answered on the fourth ring.
“Why is Hunter in the hospital?” I sobbed.
Silence.
Then she laughed.
Not nervous.
Not shocked.
Pleased.
“You should never have left him with me,” she said.
My blood turned to ice.
Behind her, Bertha spoke flatly.
“He never listens. He got what he deserved.”
May you like
Hunter was six.
There was no universe where he deserved pain.
