Chapter 5 - Three Days
By morning, the ten-day prediction no longer mattered.
Blythe’s infection had become severe.
Dr. Chen stood in the intensive care unit beneath fluorescent lights.
“We need forty-eight hours of stability before conditioning.”
“And if she doesn't stabilize?”
He did not answer.
Three days.
Maybe less.
Avery Cole arrived anyway.
She was twenty-seven, a graphic designer with bright red glasses and a nervous smile.
She had never met us.
Never heard of Mercer family politics.
She simply knew a child needed her.
When I offered to compensate every expense, she shook her head.
“The registry covers what I need.”
“I can do more.”
“Then donate to recruitment.”
I stared.
She shrugged.
“More donors means somebody else's kid gets a chance.”
People like Avery confused the world I came from.
No leverage.
No demand.
No hidden motive.
Just kindness.
Daniel Hart completed his donor preparation for Jonah.
Jonah asked to meet him briefly through glass.
Daniel waved.
Jonah pressed a handwritten note against the window:
THANK YOU FOR MY NEW SOLDIERS.
Daniel cried.
So did I.
I blamed hospital air.
Mara never mentioned it.
She barely left Blythe’s side.
On the second night, I found her sleeping upright in a chair, Blythe’s tiny hand wrapped around one of her fingers.
I covered Mara with a blanket.
Her eyes opened.
“You don't sleep.”
“Neither do you.”
“Not my children.”
“You keep saying that like it matters.”
“It does.”
“Why?”
She looked at Blythe.
“Because I know what waiting for a child to die feels like.”
I sat.
“Your brother.”
“Yes.”
“Was there really nothing they could do?”
“There was a trial.”
“What happened?”
“We learned about it six days too late.”
Her voice tightened.
“A data transfer problem delayed his referral. By the time my mother found out, he was too sick.”
“That is why you went into medical data.”
“Yes.”
“And why you copied my children’s records.”
“Yes.”
I understood Mara differently then.
She had not arrived at my gate because she was fearless.
She had arrived because fear had already taken everything from her once.
“What happens after this?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“If they survive.”
She smiled faintly.
“When.”
“When they survive.”
“I leave.”
The answer bothered me more than it should have.
“Why?”
“Because I'm not part of this family.”
“Jonah thinks you are.”
“Jonah also thinks dinosaurs lived in Chicago.”
“He makes compelling arguments.”
She laughed quietly.
Then we heard Blythe.
“Mara?”
Mara stood immediately.
“I'm here.”
“Sing.”
The same silly song.
Moonlight.
Stubborn star.
I watched my daughter smile.
And for several minutes, machines stopped sounding like threats.
At 2:17 a.m., Prescott called.
Franklin was missing.
He had entered Adrian’s residence but never exited through monitored doors.
Police obtained a warrant based on evidence Franklin provided.
The house was searched.
Blood was found in the garage.
Not enough to establish death.
Enough to frighten me.
Adrian was gone.
His private jet remained grounded.
Cars untouched.
He had planned an escape route no one knew.
Then Prescott found a financial transfer.
Ten million dollars moved from the Mercer Foundation to an offshore account.
Timestamp: twenty minutes after Franklin arrived.
Adrian was running.
“Let him,” I said.
Prescott paused.
“That's not a sentence I expected from you.”
“My children first.”
He understood.
A few hours later, Blythe stabilized enough for the transplant team to begin urgent conditioning preparations.
No promises.
No miracle.
Just movement.
Jonah started his protocol first.
He became nauseated.
Weak.
Angry.
“I hate the hospital.”
“I know.”
“I hate medicine.”
“I know.”
“I hate cancer.”
“So do I.”
“Can you kill it?”
The question struck me.
Months earlier, I might have answered with some meaningless promise.
Now I said, “No.”
He looked disappointed.
“But the doctors can fight it.”
“And Daniel's soldiers?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
Perhaps children handled truth better than adults thought.
The next afternoon, Adrian finally made contact.
Not with me.
With Mara.
Her phone received a message from an unknown number.
YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED HOMELESS.
Then another.
A photograph.
Mara entering the hospital.
Taken twenty minutes earlier.
I looked around.
Crowded corridor.
Families.
Nurses.
Visitors.
Somebody was watching.
Prescott increased security.
Mara became angry.
“This is because of me.”
“No.”
“He knows I have Genevieve’s evidence.”
“He knows I have it now.”
“He'll use me to reach you.”
“Then he misunderstands.”
She looked at me.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you're not leaving my sight.”
“That's not reassuring coming from a crime boss.”
“You prefer less security?”
“I prefer not needing it.”
“So do I.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Mara asked the question I had been avoiding.
“What are you going to do to Adrian if you find him?”
Old Lawson would have answered immediately.
Now I looked through the ICU glass at Blythe.
“I don't know.”
“That scares me.”
“Why?”
“Because your children may survive.”
I frowned.
“And?”
“They'll eventually ask what you did when you found the man responsible.”
She moved closer.
“What answer do you want to give them?”
That question followed me for hours.
At seven that evening, the first donor stem cells arrived for Jonah.
A nurse held the bag as though it were ordinary.
It looked ordinary.
Inside it was a stranger's gift and my son's chance.
Jonah whispered, “That's all?”
Dr. Chen smiled.
“That's a lot.”
The infusion began.
I held Jonah’s hand.
Mara sat with Blythe.
Hours later, Avery's donation process was proceeding for my daughter.
Then Blythe’s blood pressure crashed.
Doctors rushed in.
Machines screamed.
Mara was pushed into the hallway.
I stood helplessly outside.
Again.
Always outside glass.
Always watching other people try to save my children.
Mara grabbed my hand.
“She’s fighting.”
“What if fighting isn't enough?”
“Then we stay.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“You don't get to disappear before she does.”
That sentence broke the last wall inside me.
I lowered my head.
For the first time since Genevieve died, I cried without hiding it.
Mara held my hand.
No fear.
No pity.
Just stayed.
Twenty-three minutes later, Dr. Chen came out.
“She’s stable.”
I nearly collapsed.
“Can she still receive the transplant?”
“If she remains stable overnight.”
Hope again.
Fragile.
Dangerous.
Necessary.
Then Prescott approached from the end of the corridor.
His expression told me something had happened.
“What?”
“We found Adrian.”
“Where?”
“He didn't run from Chicago.”
“Where is he?”
Prescott looked toward Mara.
“Inside your Lake Forest estate.”
I stared.
“How?”
“Old service tunnel beneath the west wall.”
A tunnel my father built decades ago.
An escape route I had sealed.
Or believed I had.
“What is he doing there?”
“We don't know.”
Then Prescott showed me a photograph from a hidden camera.
Adrian stood inside Genevieve’s abandoned study.
He was holding her memory card.
The evidence we thought was safely copied.
And behind him, carrying a gasoline can, stood Odette.
May you like
My house manager.
The woman who had helped raise Jonah and Blythe from infancy.
