Chapter 2 - One Hour From Disaster
Vivian’s hands shook as she fastened Sabina’s seat belt.
The child’s eyes fluttered.
“Stay with me, sweetheart.”
“I’m tired.”
“I know. Keep looking at me.”
Vivian ran around the car and climbed behind the wheel.
As she started the engine, her phone rang.
The caller identification showed Saint Catherine’s Hospital.
She answered through the car speakers.
“Mrs. Ashford?” a doctor asked. “This is Dr. Rowan. The nurse contacted me regarding Sabina’s symptoms. How long has she had severe abdominal pain?”
“Several hours. The fever began this morning.”
“Is she awake?”
“Barely.”
“You need to come directly to the emergency entrance. Do not wait.”
“I’m already leaving.”
There was a pause.
“Mrs. Ashford, based on what you’ve described, another hour could place your daughter at risk of serious complications.”
Vivian looked back at the illuminated windows of Ashford Manor.
Through the rain, she could see silhouettes moving through the dining room.
Thatcher’s dinner had begun.
He had not come outside to check on Sabina.
He had not called.
Vivian pressed the accelerator.
The drive to Saint Catherine’s usually took twenty-five minutes. That evening, flooded streets and heavy traffic turned every intersection into an obstacle.
Sabina became increasingly quiet.
Vivian kept speaking to her.
She told stories about the summer they had spent near the coast. She reminded Sabina of the baby sea turtle they had watched crawl toward the ocean. She promised they would return when she felt better.
Sabina gave no response.
At a red light, Vivian reached back and touched her hand.
It felt cold despite the fever.
Fear consumed her.
“Sabina, squeeze my fingers.”
Nothing happened.
“Please, baby.”
Sabina’s fingers moved faintly.
Vivian began crying.
When they reached the hospital, two nurses and an orderly were waiting outside with a stretcher.
The doors opened before Vivian stopped the car.
Dr. Rowan met them inside.
He examined Sabina quickly and ordered imaging, blood tests, and intravenous fluids.
Vivian stood against the wall as the medical team worked.
She called Thatcher.
No answer.
She called again.
The call was declined.
A message arrived thirty seconds later.
Dinner started. Stop calling.
Vivian stared at the screen.
A nurse approached.
“Mrs. Ashford, your daughter is being taken for emergency imaging.”
“What do you think is wrong?”
“We need the scan to confirm it.”
“Is she going to be all right?”
The nurse hesitated.
That hesitation terrified Vivian more than any answer could have.
“We’re moving as quickly as possible.”
Vivian followed the stretcher until she was stopped at a pair of swinging doors.
For the first time since leaving the manor, she had no task to perform.
No bag to pack.
No road to navigate.
No child to carry.
She stood alone beneath bright hospital lights while strangers attempted to save her daughter.
Her phone rang.
She grabbed it, expecting Thatcher.
Instead, the screen displayed an unfamiliar number.
“Hello?”
“Is this Vivian Ashford?”
“Yes.”
“This is Daniel Mercer. I represent the Ashford Family Trust.”
Vivian frowned.
The name was familiar. Daniel Mercer had been the private attorney of Thatcher’s late grandfather, Alistair Ashford.
“I’m at the hospital. This isn’t a good time.”
“I understand, but I received an automated security notice connected to Sabina’s medical file.”
Vivian’s confusion deepened.
“What security notice?”
“A medical emergency involving an Ashford heir activates a provision in the family trust.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
There was a silence.
“Did Thatcher never explain the guardianship clauses?”
“No.”
Daniel exhaled slowly.
“Mrs. Ashford, I need to ask you a difficult question. Did anyone prevent or delay Sabina from receiving medical care?”
Vivian looked at Thatcher’s message.
Dinner started. Stop calling.
Her throat tightened.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Her father.”
Daniel’s voice changed.
It became careful and formal.
“Save every message. Do not delete anything. I will meet you at the hospital.”
“Why?”
“Because Thatcher may have violated the condition that gives him control of the Ashford estate.”
Before Vivian could ask another question, the emergency room doors opened.
Dr. Rowan approached with a grave expression.
“The scan shows a severe infection around Sabina’s appendix. It may already have ruptured.”
Vivian’s phone slipped from her hand.
“She needs surgery immediately,” the doctor continued. “We need your authorization.”
Vivian signed every paper placed before her.
As Sabina was taken toward the operating room, she opened her eyes.
“Mom?”
“I’m here.”
“Is Dad coming?”
Vivian looked toward the empty corridor behind her.
“I don’t know.”
Sabina’s lower lip trembled.
“Did he choose the dinner?”
Vivian could not lie.
She kissed her daughter’s forehead.
“You are the only thing that matters right now.”
The doors closed between them.
Vivian stood motionless for several seconds.
Then she picked up her phone and called Thatcher one last time.
This time, Beatrix answered.
“Thatcher is entertaining Mr. Harcourt,” she said sharply.
“Put him on the phone.”
“No.”
“Sabina is in emergency surgery.”
Beatrix became silent.
Vivian heard laughter and music behind her.
Then Beatrix lowered her voice.
“You always find a way to ruin his victories.”
The call ended.
Vivian stared at the phone.
A man’s voice spoke behind her.
“Mrs. Ashford?”
She turned.
Daniel Mercer stood at the end of the corridor holding an old leather case.
He was in his sixties, with silver hair and a dark overcoat wet from the rain.
His expression was not merely concerned.
May you like
It was furious.
“I was afraid this day would come,” he said.
