34. Andrew

Andrew

Beep... beep... beep... beep... beeeeeeeeeee.

"I'm so sorry, Drew. We did everything we could. She's gone. They're gone."

"Please, no. Please, no! No, no, no, no. Try again, please. CLAIRE! Wake up for me, baby!"

Security rushes in, dragging me away from Claire, out of the room. I throw punches blindly, resisting with everything I have to get back to her. Back to my baby. My world.

"Please, Claire. Come back. Don't leave me." My voice is raw. Desperate.

They pull me further as more staff rush in.

"Claaaiirree!"

I jolt awake, gasping, heart pounding in my chest like it's trying to escape.

Claire has been on a ventilator for a week. The doctors said they might try to wean her off today, just to see if her body can take it. She's been in a medically induced coma, sustained by IV fluids and blood pressure meds. They even performed a plasmapheresis—a plasma exchange that works like a Hail Mary against ricin. No antidote. No fix. Just hope.

So far, she's holding steady.

The baby still has a heartbeat. But no one will promise anything. We're in limbo—the worst kind. The kind where the only thing you can do is wait and pray and wish it was you instead.

I received oxygen and fluids, but I refused to stay unless they put me in Claire's room. Luckily, Jared knows half the hospital staff. He pulled strings the way only Jared can—with shameless flirting and sheer persistence. Two days later, I was discharged. I hadn't been exposed to as much ricin as Claire.

Still, I keep replaying that moment—wishing I'd been the only one to touch that fucking letter. Wishing it had just been me.

My mother has called several times.

The police tried arresting her, but she vanished before they got there. Her accounts are frozen, her name flagged, but she's smart. Careful. She's calling from masked numbers, staying a step ahead.

Each time she calls, I answer. Let it record. The cops are tracing. I keep hoping it'll be the time they find her.

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"Andrew?" Her voice drips with mock concern. "Are you doing okay, honey? You must know I didn't want things to happen this way. I was just looking out for you. That girl—she'll turn you into your father. Is that what you want? To leave your wife and children behind, like he did?"

God. She knows where to strike. Every time.

She spent years telling me I'm just like him. His voice. His face. His flaws.

Maybe that's why she latched onto Becca. If I was going to grow into my father, she'd make sure I ended up with someone who would tether me. Just like he was tied to her through us.

When I was a kid, Becca was... there. Annoying, clingy, and always there. When I tried to push her away, my mother guilted me into staying. "Do you want to abandon her like your father did you?" And I'd stay. Out of shame. Fear. The kind of fear that makes a child believe they owe the world for their existence.

I think my mother saw herself in Becca—the girl who got everything but the boy she wanted. And I was her revenge.

I don't respond. I just let her talk, hoping the call is long enough to trace.

"Mother," I say finally, voice low. "John left you—not me. Your family made sure he couldn't see us again. You rewrote that narrative, and you've been feeding it to me for years. But I've been hearing from him. He's sent letters. He's tried. He didn't leave us because he didn't care. He left because he couldn't survive another day with you. And you knew that. You've hated me ever since because I reminded you of the man who walked away."

She laughs, cold and hollow. "Well, I got the last laugh. I took what was theirs—and they don't even know it."

"What the hell does that mean?"

Her voice softens, almost nostalgic.

"You, Drew. I took you. Like a piece of fruit off a tree. Sarah let it slip she was pregnant. My mother followed her family, encouraged them to leave town. Then I waited. Watched. I told John I was having trouble getting pregnant and that a baby boy needed a home. He didn't question it. He was so disconnected, he never realized how much you looked like her."

I go cold. My skin tingles. My mouth is dry.

"Your father always loved you the most," she continues. "You were the part of Sarah he never let go of, and he didn't even know."

There's a pause. I hear her sigh, dreamy.

"They searched for you, but you were gone. I paid good money to make it so. Burned their home down with every trace of you inside. And lucky me, John only heard rumors you even existed. Sarah was too afraid to tell him. So even when he left, I still won. I had you. The one thing they'd never get back."

Then, softly, like a confession—

"Rebecca is mine."

I stop breathing for a second.

"What?"

"My best friend Juniper married Robert. Robert and I had an affair; they didn't know I was pregnant. My parents sent me away for a year, and when I returned, Becca was handed to Juniper. She raised her. Hated me for it. But she played along—for the families. For the money."

My stomach flips.

"When they started feeling guilty... started talking about telling the truth? They had to go. Simple as that."

Jesus Christ.

"Does Becca know? Or is she just another pawn in your twisted game?"

She laughs. "Becca knows what she needs to. She'll get her happily ever after, just like you always promised her."

"I only ever said that because you made me believe she was unloved! You told me every day that she deserved a happily ever after, and to remind her that!"

"She was unloved by Juniper. But I loved her. Her father loved her."

"She's pregnant—with Roy's kid! Do you realize what kind of incest-bred hell you've created?!"

She scoffs. "Oh, please. She's not pregnant. We just needed that girlfriend of yours gone."

"You twisted bitch," I snap. "I hope they give you the chair. And if they don't, I'll bury you under the prison myself."

She exhales slowly, like she's bored. "Save the dramatics for your real mother, Andrew. I have a tea to get to. Tell the police good luck with extradition. And for what it's worth... I did grow to love you. That was just an added bonus."

Click.

My phone rings immediately after.

"Please tell me you traced that."

"We got everything. But... did you know your mother was born in Moldova? She's a Moldovan citizen. There's no extradition treaty. We'll do everything we can, but we're limited."

Of course.

I drop my head into my hands. The room spins. My world—the woman I love, our baby, the truth of my childhood—all of it tangled in this grotesque mess.

Then I hear it.

Coughing. Harsh, wet, painful.

I turn.

Claire is awake.

Her eyes are wild. Terrified. She's struggling against her tubing, trying to pull it out with her good hand.

"Baby, no! NURSE!"