I knelt in front of him, cupping his face. “That’s amazing. I’m proud of you.”
He smiled wider. “Can we get ice cream before we go home?”
I laughed, brushing his hair back. “Only if you promise not to tell Dr. B.”
“Promise!”
We walked hand in hand toward the parking lot. I could feel the tension loosening from my shoulders just being near him. But peace, I would learn, never stayed long.
We had just reached the pedestrian lane across the main driveway when I heard the screech of tires. A flash of silver. A scream—not mine, someone else's—and then chaos.
It all happened too fast.
One second Liam was next to me. The next, he was thrown like a ragdoll.
“LIAM!”
My knees hit the asphalt before I even realized I was down. People shouted. A nurse was screaming. A car had slammed into the hospital signpost, smoke curling from its hood. Time blurred, slowed. I crawled to him, my palms scraping across the concrete.
He was still breathing.
His tiny chest moved. Blood streaked his temple, a gash splitting his eyebrow. One of his shoes had flown off. His arm bent at an angle it shouldn’t.
“Call an ambulance!” I shrieked, though we were already at a hospital. “Please, somebody help—my son—!”
Doctors and nurses rushed out, someone pulled me back as they hoisted Liam onto a stretcher.
“I’m his mother!” I screamed, trying to follow. “Let me in, I need to—he needs me!”
But a firm hand held me back.
And that’s when I saw him.
Zach.
On the far end of the sidewalk. Rushing in. His eyes wide, his suit half-wrung, like he had just dropped everything to get here.
“What happened?” he barked at the nurse. “Is that my son?!”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
It was Celine who appeared beside him—calm, cold, timed. She placed a hand on Zach’s arm, pulling him back with measured grace.
“How did you know it was coming?” I whispered, my voice shaking.
Celine tilted her head, eyes glinting like glass. “You think we’d let you keep walking him into danger?”
“What…?”
But she was already turning away. Later, in the waiting room, drenched in sweat and dried tears, a social worker came. She looked apologetic, but firm.
“Ms. Arianne Hatton, there’s concern about your ability to ensure Liam’s safety. Given the severity of the incident, and the pending custody petition, the court has ruled for a temporary emergency transfer.”
“What do you mean?” My throat dried up. “My son is going home with me.”