Chapter 1 - The Descent into the Abyss
"104°F Fever, Shut-Off Phone, and a Mistress: 'You're Too Late,' Said the Doctor."
"You're too late..."
The ER doctor's voice felt like an ice-cold blade pressed against my throat.
Four hours ago, my three-year-old daughter, Lily, was burning up in my arms. Her tiny body shook with a 104°F fever, her lips turning a faint, terrifying shade of blue. Panicked, I called my husband, Marcus. Once. Twice. Ten times.
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He had turned off his phone. While I was speeding through red lights with a dying child in the backseat, Marcus was at a high-end rooftop bar in downtown Chicago, pouring champagne for his 22-year-old assistant, Chloe. I knew because her Instagram story was updated twenty minutes prior—a video of Marcus laughing, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, raising a glass to "unforgettable nights."
When I finally dragged Lily through the hospital doors, she was unresponsive. They rushed her into the ICU, hooked her up to endless monitors, and forced me to wait behind glass doors while nurses sprinted in and out.
Now, Dr. Vance stood before me, his eyes grave. "Mrs. Miller... you're too late."
My knees buckled. Tears blinded me as I grabbed his coat. "No! Please! She's only three! Take my life, just save her!"
"Ma'am, listen to me carefully," Dr. Vance whispered, stepping closer and dropping his tone so low the nurses couldn't hear. "I don't mean her heart stopped. I mean you were too late to prevent the blood test results from hitting the state registry."
I froze, my pulse hammering in my ears. "What blood test?"
Dr. Vance pulled out a confidential report, his fingers trembling slightly. "The high fever was triggered by a rare, synthetic toxin. But that’s not the worst part, Sarah. We ran a routine DNA compatibility check for an emergency plasma transfusion. Lily isn't genetically related to Marcus. But her DNA is a 99.9% match to a man who was declared dead in a car crash five years ago... your former fiancé, Ethan."
My heart stopped. Ethan was dead. I buried him myself.
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Before I could process the nightmare, the heavy double doors of the hallway burst open. Marcus walked in, reeking of expensive bourbon and cheap perfume, accompanied by two armed city police officers.
"There she is!" Marcus shouted, pointing a finger directly at my chest, his face twisted in ruthless triumph. "Officers, arrest that woman. She just poisoned my daughter!"
