Chapter 3
The digital clock on the bedside table clicked silently to 3:15 PM, marking fifteen agonizing minutes since the nurse had retreated down the hallway, intimidated by Evelyn’s relentless legal posturing. The room was heavy with a suffocating stillness, broken only by the rhythmic beep of the hallway monitors and the distant, muffled announcements over the hospital intercom.
Elena kept one arm locked securely around the infant, her fingers tracing the fine peach fuzz on the baby’s head. Every instinct honed by six years of military service screamed at her to bolt, to rip the IV needles from her arm and run barefoot down the stairwell. But her core was stitched shut from the Cesarean section; a sudden movement would tear the internal sutures and bleed her out before she reached the elevator bank.
Evelyn paced the length of the linoleum floor, the heels of her sensible beige pumps clicking sharply against the hard surface. Every turn brought her closer to the bed, closer to the bundle in Elena’s arms.
“The car is idling in the subterranean garage, Jessica,” Evelyn said, glancing at her gold wristwatch. “We have thirty minutes to file the physical custody receipt with the intake clerk downstairs before the family division closes for the weekend. Do not let sentimentality delay us.”
Jessica stood frozen near the window, her white trench coat wrapped tightly around her frame as if she were shivering in a blizzard. She looked at Elena, her eyes red-rimmed and miserable. “I brought your duffel bag from the car, Elena. Your civilian clothes and your service medals are inside the front pocket. I thought... I thought you’d want them when you discharge tomorrow.”
“You packed my medals?” Elena’s voice was venomous, laced with a bitter disbelief. “You packed my service medals while helping my worst enemy steal my child? What kind of monster have you become, Jess?”
Jessica flinched as though she had been struck physically. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out; she simply pressed the tissue harder against her nose and turned back toward the rain-streaked glass.
Evelyn stopped pacing and leaned over the foot of the bed, planting both hands firmly on the metal frame. Her face was a mask of cold efficiency. “Name-calling won't alter the docket, Elena. The state of California recognizes financial and domestic stability above maternal sentiment, especially when that maternal commitment is about to be packed onto a C-17 transport plane bound for an active combat zone. You chose the uniform. This is the cost.”
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Elena’s chest heaved. The IV line in her hand pulled taut, the plastic tubing turning pink as a tiny drop of blood backed up into the catheter. She forced herself to breathe, rationing her oxygen like a soldier pinned down in a trench. She needed a strategy, not a shouting match.
***
