Chapter 2: The Pain
Luke’s small hand pressed against the center of his chest.
“Mommy… it hurts.”
The words cut through the stunned silence on the patio more sharply than Madeline’s earlier cruelty. One moment my son had been sobbing over the ruined cobbler; the next his face had gone pale and tight with a different kind of fear. Brandon was at our side in two strides. Around us the relatives stood frozen, some still holding plates, others already beginning to whisper.
“We’re leaving,” Brandon said, voice low and controlled. He did not look at his mother again. “Right now.”
I lifted Luke into my arms. He was trembling, his breath coming in short, uneven pulls. Cream still clung to his little legs and the front of his white shirt. I did not stop to clean him. Brandon grabbed the car keys from the kitchen counter, and within minutes we were pulling out of the driveway while Madeline remained on the patio, surrounded by the family she had just forced to witness her rejection of her own grandson.
In the back seat I held Luke against my chest and counted his breaths. They were too fast. His skin felt clammy.
“Does it still hurt, baby?”
He nodded against my shoulder, too frightened to speak.
Brandon drove with both hands tight on the wheel, jaw locked. At a red light he glanced at me in the rearview mirror.
“He’s never had chest pain before.”
May you like
“I know.”
We did not speculate further. We simply got him to the emergency entrance as quickly as the streets allowed.
