"Patrick, the housekeeper says the baby might be sick. He won't stop crying. What do we do?"
The color drained from his face. He straightened immediately, wrapped his arm around June, and headed for the door.
"Don't worry, don't worry. We'll take him to the hospital right now."
He didn't look back at me once.
The footsteps faded. I lay on the floor staring up at the ceiling, a bitter smile twisting my lips. Then everything went black.
When I opened my eyes again, three days had passed. The house was empty.
The one maid who still cared about me brought me a glass of water, her eyes red with pity.
"Ma'am, every doctor in the hospital got called away to look after the young master. I had a private physician come to bandage you up, but you really need to get to a hospital yourself."
I took the glass, nodded, and managed a small, grateful smile.
My phone rang. A courier.
I went to the door and picked up the package. Inside were two finalized divorce certificates.
I placed Patrick's copy on the desk in his study.
Then I picked up the little luggage I had and walked out.
I hadn't gotten far when my phone rang again.
It was Maurice Sanchez.
"Serena, I'm almost there."