Chapter 5 - The Crisis
At 2:00 AM on Sunday morning, the mansion's silent alarms didn't go off, but Claire’s maternal instincts did. She woke up to the sound of muffled coughing coming from down the hall.
She threw off her covers and ran to the triplets' bedroom. The room was dark, but by the dim light of the hallway, she saw Caleb sitting up in bed, gasping for air. His chest was heaving, a terrifying wheezing sound echoing in the quiet room.
"Noah, Miles, stay in bed," Claire ordered quickly, rushing to Caleb’s side. She pressed her hand to his forehead; he was burning hot.
"He... he gets like this sometimes," Noah whimpered, sitting up. "Dad usually calls the private doctor, but the doctor is in city."
Claire lifted Caleb into her arms. He was terrifyingly light, his small body shaking as he struggled to pull oxygen into his lungs. "It's an asthma attack, aggravated by a fever. Caleb, look at me. Look at my eyes, buddy."
Caleb’s panicked gray eyes locked onto hers.
"Match my breathing," Claire said, keeping her voice completely steady, a calm anchor in his storm. She took deep, slow breaths. "In... and out. Just like me. You're okay. I've got you."
She carried him out of the room and sprinted down the stairs toward the office, knowing Adrian slept in the master suite nearby. She didn't bother knocking; she kicked the door open.
Adrian was already awake, standing in the middle of the room with a silver beretta in his hand, alerted by the heavy footsteps. When he saw Claire holding his gasping son, his face went completely pale.
"Caleb," Adrian breathed, dropping the gun onto the desk and rushing forward. "What happened?"
"Severe asthma attack. He needs a nebulizer or an inhaler immediately. Where do you keep his medical supplies?" Claire demanded.
"In the cabinet, but the keys—"
"Break it!" Claire yelled.
Adrian didn't hesitate. He smashed the glass door of the medical cabinet with his bare fist, ignoring the blood dripping from his knuckles. He grabbed the nebulizer machine and the medicine vial.
Within minutes, Claire had the mask secured over Caleb’s face. She sat on the floor, rocking the little boy in her lap, whispering soothing words as the medicine mist began to open his airways. Adrian knelt beside them, his bloody hand resting on his son's knee, his breath ragged.
For the next hour, neither of them moved. Slowly, Caleb's breathing evened out, and he fell asleep against Claire’s chest.
Adrian looked up at Claire, his eyes filled with a raw, unprotected emotion that no one in the Moretti syndicate had ever seen.
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"You didn't panic," he whispered.
"My daughter Lily had croup when she was two," Claire said softly, stroking Caleb's hair. "When you're a single parent, you don't have the luxury of panicking. You just do what needs to be done."
