Chapter 3

Her fever hits 103.6.

I'm shaking head to toe as I rush her into the ER.

I sign her in.

Wait in line.

Still shaking.

The doctor pulls off his stethoscope and frowns.

"This baby's malnourished. Way underweight. Her immune system is severely weakened."

He looks up at me, his voice heavy.

"This is dangerous for a newborn. What the hell are you two doing as parents?"

My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

What are we doing.

Between the two of us, we get $9.90 a month.

I call Luca.

He actually shows up.

Something inside me lifts a little.

Three years of marriage. First time I've ever asked him for anything.

"She needs specialty formula. And supplements. Please — no more mystery boxes. Just give me a real allowance."

He stares at me a few seconds. Digs a card out of his pocket. Flicks it at me.

"Two grand on it. Should cover it."

"It's not enough. The doctor said follow-ups, and —"

His voice drops. Cold.

"Frost. $50 million wasn't enough for you. Now two grand's not enough either?"

"You and your family had a nice little scam running that night. You didn't think it'd come back to bite you?"

"That wasn't me!"

For my daughter, I finally scream it.

"My parents did it behind my back! To fund Sadie's dowry and her condo! I had nothing to do with it!"

Luca freezes. Then he laughs.

"Frost. You'll say anything for a payout, huh."

"First you lied about the baby being sick. Now this fairy tale."

He looks down at me. Nothing but disgust in his eyes.

"Don't think popping out a kid gives you leverage. You think I don't know what game you're playing?"

His phone buzzes.

Screen lights up: Sadie 💗

He picks up.

His voice instantly softens.

"You're here? Which exam room? I'm on my way."

He hangs up.

Doesn't even look at me.

Walks out.

Turns out, he wasn't here for me.

He wasn't here for our baby.

He came for Sadie's baby.

I stand in the hallway, my baby screaming her lungs out, watching his back disappear around the corner.

Hospital entrance.

“Frost.”

Sadie's voice behind me.

Her baby's chubby and pink, wrapped in a Gucci onesie.

She looks at my scrawny, yellow-tinged daughter. Something flickers across her face.

Then she reaches into her nanny's diaper bag and hands me a canister of formula.

"My baby can't finish it. You take it."

"Luca felt so bad for us — poor little widow and her baby — bought us a hundred cases."

I stare at that can. $1,800 a canister.

My daughter's entire monthly allowance can't buy a single scoop of her cousin's formula.

I clench my fist. Take the handout.

That night I call my mom.

"Mom. The baby needs to be hospitalized. Can you lend me something? Just a little."

Silence on the other end.

"Your sister just had a baby too, she needs the money. Go ask your husband!"

"Mom —"

"Enough, enough, stop calling. Your sister's resting, you're gonna wake her."

Click.

Late that night, I fall asleep on the couch with my daughter.

At some point, a blanket lands on me.

Half-conscious, I see Luca bending over. So careful. Like he's scared to wake something.

But by morning, there's a fresh pile of mystery boxes on the dining table.

He's across from me sipping his espresso. Nods at the pile.

"Pull one."

I look at them. And suddenly I'm just done.

"Luca. I'm tired. I'm not pulling anymore."

His cup pauses halfway to his mouth.

He just glances up. Cold, measuring. "What's the new angle for cash? Last time it was 'the baby's sick.' What's this act called?"

I don't answer.

I turn around and go mix a bottle from Sadie's handout formula.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

I check.

Lena. "Frost… there's something I don't know if I should tell you…"

Next message is still typing.

My daughter starts crying in the living room.

The thermometer beeps.

104.2.

I shut my phone off. Grab her. Run.

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