Elena's POV
I couldn't breathe.
The Blackwell Foundation. Of course it was Adrian's foundation. Of course the one person who could save my son was the man who'd destroyed me.
"Ms. Hart?" Dr. Winters touched my arm gently. "Are you alright?"
No. I wasn't alright. My four-year-old son was unconscious with a failing heart, and the only way to save him meant facing the monster from my past.
"How long does Ethan have?" My voice came out stronger than I felt.
Dr. Winters exchanged a look with Dr. Chen. That look parents never want to see—the one that says this is serious.
"Without surgery, his condition will deteriorate rapidly. We're talking weeks, maybe days if he has another episode." She paused. "With surgery, he has an excellent chance at a normal life."
Weeks. Days.
I looked at Ethan lying so still in that hospital bed. His dark curls spread across the white pillow. His little chest rising and falling too slowly. This was my baby, the boy I'd raised alone, the reason I'd survived when giving up seemed easier.
"What do I need to do?" I asked.
"Get authorization from the Blackwell Foundation for immediate surgery scheduling," Dr. Winters said. "I can perform the operation, but without their approval, we're looking at a six-month wait."
Six months Ethan didn't have.
"There has to be another way—"
"There isn't." Dr. Winters's voice was kind but firm. "I'm sorry. The Blackwell Foundation built the entire cardiac wing. They control access to the surgical schedule. It's the reality of how this hospital operates."
Maya grabbed my hand and squeezed hard. She knew what this meant. She'd been there five years ago when I'd shown up at her door—pregnant, broke, and broken.
"I'll make some calls," Maya said quietly. "Maybe we can find someone who knows someone—"
"No." I stood up, decision made. "I'll handle this myself."
Because that's what mothers do. We walk through fire for our children. We face our worst nightmares if it means keeping them safe.
Even if that nightmare has a name: Adrian Blackwell.
The next two hours were torture.
More doctors came to examine Ethan. They hooked him up to more machines, drew more blood, asked more questions. Through it all, my son slept on, unaware that his mother's world was crumbling.
Maya brought me terrible hospital coffee that I couldn't drink and a sandwich I couldn't eat. She sat beside me, a silent presence that kept me from falling apart completely.
"You don't have to do this alone," Maya said finally. "I can make the call for you. Pretend to be your assistant or something."
I almost laughed. Maya was my assistant at the company, but she was so much more than that. She was the friend who'd helped me survive my darkest days, who'd babysit Ethan when I worked late, who'd believed in me when I didn't believe in myself.
"Adrian won't take a call from an assistant," I said. "Not for this."
"Then what are you going to tell him?"
Good question. Hi, Adrian, remember me? The wife you threw away like trash? Yeah, surprise! You have a son, and he's dying. Want to help?
My stomach turned.
"I'll figure it out." I checked my phone. Six-thirty in the evening. Adrian would still be at his office. The man lived and breathed work—I knew that better than anyone.
I pulled up his company's website and found the main number. My finger hovered over the call button.
Five years. Five years since I'd heard his voice. Five years since he'd chosen someone else over me. Five years of building myself into someone strong enough to never need him again.
And now I had no choice.
"Mama?"
My head snapped up. Ethan's eyes were open—those beautiful dark eyes that looked so much like his father's.
"Baby!" I was at his side instantly, holding his small hand. "How do you feel?"
"Tired." His voice was so quiet. "What happened?"
"You got sick, sweetheart. But the doctors are going to make you all better." I smoothed his curls back from his forehead. "I promise."
"Can we go home?" Ethan's bottom lip trembled. "I don't like it here."
"Soon, baby. Soon."
Dr. Chen appeared in the doorway. "Ms. Hart? We need to talk about treatment options. Immediately."
Immediately meant now. Immediately meant Ethan was worse than they'd told me.
I kissed my son's forehead. "I'll be right back, okay? Maya's going to stay with you."
Maya slid into the chair beside Ethan's bed and started telling him a story about a brave dinosaur. Ethan loved dinosaurs.
I followed Dr. Chen into the hallway, my heart pounding.
"His heart is weakening faster than we anticipated," Dr. Chen said without preamble. "We're going to move him to the ICU for closer monitoring. And Ms. Hart—you need to get that authorization tonight. We can't wait."
Tonight.
I had to call Adrian tonight.
"I understand," I whispered.
Back in Ethan's room, I watched the nurses prepare to move him. He looked so tiny, so fragile. This was my son, my everything, the boy who called me Mama and believed I could fix anything.
And I would fix this. Whatever it cost me.
Maya walked me to a quiet corner of the ICU waiting room after Ethan was settled. "Do you want me to stay while you make the call?"
I shook my head. "I need to do this alone."
She hugged me tight. "You're the strongest person I know. You've got this."
But as Maya left and I stared at my phone, I didn't feel strong. I felt like that broken girl from five years ago, the one who'd signed divorce papers with trembling hands.
I pulled up Adrian's office number again.
My thumb hovered over the call button.
Do it for Ethan, I told myself. Do it for your son.
I pressed call.
The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.
"Adrian Blackwell's office," a crisp female voice answered. His secretary.
"I need to speak with Mr. Blackwell." My voice shook. "It's an emergency."
"Mr. Blackwell is in meetings all day. I can take a message—"
"Tell him it's about a four-year-old boy with a heart condition who needs immediate surgery." The words tumbled out desperately. "Tell him it's life or death."
A pause. "May I ask who's calling?"
I almost gave a fake name. Almost hung up. But then I thought of Ethan in that ICU bed.
"Elena," I whispered. "Tell him Elena is calling."
Another pause, longer this time. "Please hold."
The elevator music felt like torture. What if he refused to take my call? What if he was still angry about—
"Elena?"
His voice hit me like a physical blow.
Deep. Familiar. Exactly the same as it had been five years ago when he'd told me he wanted a divorce.
I couldn't speak. My throat had closed up completely.
"Elena, is that really you?"
"I—" My voice cracked. "I need your help."
Silence on the other end. Then: "Where are you?"
"Mount Sinai Hospital. ICU." I forced the words out. "There's a child. He has a heart condition and needs surgery, but the waiting list—your foundation controls the authorization—"
"What's the child's name?" Adrian's voice had changed, gone sharp and focused.
"Ethan. Ethan Hart."
"How old?"
"Four."
Another pause. I could hear him breathing, could almost see him in his office, putting pieces together.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes," Adrian said. "Elena—don't leave before I get there."
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone, my whole body shaking.
In twenty minutes, Adrian Blackwell would walk through those hospital doors. In twenty minutes, he'd see the son he never knew existed. In twenty minutes, my carefully built world would explode.
And I had no idea if I was saving Ethan's life or destroying what was left of mine.