Chapter 5 - The Night Sophie Stopped Breathing
Sophie’s oxygen saturation dropped to forty-eight.
That number became burned into my memory.
Nurses moved around her incubator.
A respiratory therapist adjusted equipment.
Dr. Harris arrived.
I stood behind the glass unable to reach my daughter.
Cole stood beside me.
Edward arrived twenty minutes later because Maya called him.
Nobody spoke.
Then alarms stopped.
Not because Sophie was fine.
Because they were manually ventilating her.
I slid down the wall.
Edward crouched beside me.
“She’s going to die.”
“No.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
“Stop saying no like you can make it true!”
My voice broke across the hallway.
Everyone looked.
Edward did not retreat.
“You’re right.”
I started crying.
“I don’t know.”
That honesty saved me.
He sat on the floor beside me.
Cole watched from several feet away.
For two hours, doctors worked.
Eventually Sophie stabilized.
A respiratory infection.
Treatable.
Dangerous.
But treatable.
I slept sitting beside her incubator.
When I woke, a blanket covered me.
I assumed Edward had placed it.
Later I learned Cole did.
That complicated nothing.
A kind action did not erase betrayal.
But I allowed it to be kind.
Over the next six weeks, the babies grew.
Isla reached four pounds.
Noah learned to bottle-feed.
Sophie came off oxygen.
Edward visited only when invited.
He brought books, not toys.
He read quietly beside incubators while I pumped milk or slept.
One afternoon, he held Noah for the first time.
His hands trembled.
I noticed.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
Noah fit against his chest.
Edward closed his eyes.
For a moment, I saw the father he never got to become.
He cried silently.
I pretended not to notice until he said, “You can acknowledge it.”
“I wasn’t sure.”
“It’s okay.”
I touched his arm.
That was the beginning.
Not a kiss.
Not a confession.
Trust.
Cole came regularly too.
Without Sloan.
He learned diaper changes through incubator ports.
He attended discharge training.
For the first time since the pregnancy began, he showed up.
Then Sloan announced she was pregnant.
The headline appeared while I was feeding Noah.
SLOAN RIVERS AND COLE MERCER EXPECTING FIRST CHILD.
First child.
I stared at the phrase.
Three babies lay ten feet away.
Maya cursed so loudly a nurse shushed her.
Cole arrived forty minutes later.
He looked horrified.
“I didn’t approve that wording.”
“But she did.”
“I’m handling it.”
“Congratulations.”
He flinched.
“Lily.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then don’t ask me to perform anything.”
His face tightened.
“She is pregnant.”
“I heard.”
“She needs me.”
“So do these children.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
That became our permanent conflict.
Cole tried.
But Sloan created emergencies.
Appointments.
Photographers.
Events.
The triplets remained in NICU while their father was photographed leaving baby boutiques in Beverly Hills.
One night, Caleb—Cole’s assistant—called me accidentally.
I heard Cole yelling in the background.
“Tell Sloan I’m not leaving New York tonight.”
Then another voice.
Sloan.
“If you stay there, don’t bother coming home.”
Cole answered, “My daughter nearly died.”
Sloan said something I will never forget.
“They’re Lily’s babies.”
Silence.
Then Cole’s voice changed.
“They’re mine too.”
That call ended whatever illusion remained between them.
Three weeks later, Cole filed for separation from Sloan.
The tabloids blamed me.
Again.
Sloan went further.
She leaked private medical information about the triplets.
Birth weights.
NICU details.
Sophie’s respiratory crisis.
Information only family should have known.
Maya went nuclear.
Restraining request.
Privacy complaint.
Civil action.
Cole supported us.
Not me.
Us.
The children.
That mattered.
Then the babies finally came home.
Not to the penthouse.
To my Queens apartment.
Three bassinets barely fit.
Maya slept on the sofa.
Edward hired no staff without asking.
Instead, he showed up with diapers.
At 2:14 a.m. our first night home, all three babies screamed simultaneously.
I started laughing.
Then crying.
Then laughing again.
Edward stood in the kitchen holding Sophie.
Maya bounced Isla.
I held Noah.
“This is insane,” I whispered.
Edward smiled.
“Yes.”
“I’m never sleeping again.”
“Probably not.”
“I smell like formula.”
“Definitely.”
I laughed.
Then someone pounded on the door.
Hard.
The babies startled.
Maya froze.
Edward handed Sophie to her and moved toward the door.
“Who is it?”
Sloan screamed from the hallway.
“OPEN THE DOOR!”
My blood turned cold.
She pounded again.
“LILY!”
Edward looked at me.
“Call security.”
The building barely had security.
I called police.
Sloan continued screaming.
“You ruined my marriage!”
Cole arrived before police.
I heard his voice outside.
“Sloan, stop.”
Then crashing.
A scream.
I opened the door despite Edward telling me not to.
Sloan was hitting Cole with her handbag.
He caught her wrists.
She kicked him.
“YOU CHOSE THEM!”
“They’re my children!”
“You chose HER!”
“No!”
She slapped him.
Cole grabbed her arms.
She struggled violently.
Then saw me.
Her face changed.
She lunged.
Edward stepped between us.
“Enough.”
Sloan swung at him.
Cole caught her from behind.
Police arrived seconds later.
The hallway filled with noise.
The babies cried inside.
Sloan was escorted away.
Cole stood breathing hard.
Then looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
I held Noah against my chest.
“You need to get your life under control before you come near mine.”
He nodded.
For once, no argument.
He walked away.
Edward closed the door.
Then looked at me.
“You okay?”
I looked around.
Three crying babies.
My exhausted best friend.
Milk bottles everywhere.
A billionaire holding a burp cloth.
I laughed.
May you like
“Yes.”
And strangely, I meant it.
