PART 4 — The NICU
I looked down at the message one more time.
Lily opened her eyes again. She's stable. She seems to be waiting for you.
Everything else disappeared.
The cameras.
The reporters.
Grant.
Savannah.
Eleanor.
None of them mattered.
Not compared to a two-pound little girl who had already survived more in three days than most adults faced in a lifetime.
I closed my father's portfolio.
"I'm done."
Grant looked up sharply.
"You're just walking away?"
I met his eyes.
"My daughter is waiting for me."
Without another word, I turned toward the elevators.
The reporters instinctively moved aside.
Not because anyone asked them to.
Because something had changed.
They no longer saw the abandoned wife from a scandal.
They saw a mother.
One fighting for the only battle that truly mattered.
As the elevator doors began to close, I caught one final glimpse of Grant.
He was no longer surrounded by admiration.
Microphones pressed toward him from every direction.
Questions came faster than he could answer.
"Mr. Blackwood, did you mislead investors?"
"When did your relationship with Ms. Vale begin?"
"Did Mrs. Blackwood know?"
"Is your daughter still in intensive care?"
He looked trapped.
For years, he had controlled every room he entered.
Today...
The room controlled him.
The elevator doors slid shut.
The noise vanished.
Only Dr. Miriam Voss remained beside me.
For several floors, neither of us spoke.
Finally, she said quietly,
"Your father would be proud of you."
I smiled faintly.
"I don't feel very brave."
"You don't have to."
She looked at me kindly.
"Bravery isn't the absence of pain."
"It's choosing what deserves your attention."
I looked down at my hospital bracelet.
"My attention belongs upstairs."
She nodded.
"I know."
The doors opened onto the neonatal intensive care unit.
Everything felt different here.
The lights were dimmer.
The voices softer.
Machines beeped in gentle rhythms.
Life was measured in ounces.
In oxygen levels.
In tiny victories that the outside world would never notice.
A nurse hurried toward me.
"There you are."
She smiled warmly.
"Lily's been having a good morning."
Those words almost made my knees give way.
"A good morning?"
The nurse nodded.
"She tolerated her feeding."
"Her oxygen requirement is lower."
"And..."
She grinned.
"...she kept trying to pull off one of her little mittens."
I laughed through unexpected tears.
"That sounds like my father."
The nurse looked confused.
"He hated anyone telling him what to do."
I scrubbed my hands carefully before entering Lily's room.
The familiar scent of antiseptic filled the air.
There she was.
So unbelievably small.
Her skin was still almost translucent.
Her tiny chest rose and fell beneath gentle mechanical support.
The incubator seemed enormous around her.
Yet somehow...
She looked stronger than she had yesterday.
I slipped one finger through the access port.
Almost immediately, her miniature hand curled around it.
The grip was impossibly weak.
Yet determined.
"I know."
I whispered.
"We're both tired."
"You keep fighting."
"So will I."
Someone cleared his throat quietly behind me.
I turned.
It was Dr. Ethan Morales.
The neonatologist who had overseen Lily's care since the emergency delivery.
"I didn't want to interrupt."
He stepped closer to the incubator.
"She's remarkable."
"Is she really better?"
He smiled.
"We're cautiously optimistic."
The word optimistic had become precious.
Doctors in the NICU never used it carelessly.
"There is something else."
His expression became more serious.
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"We've reviewed your medical records again."
I immediately thought something had gone wrong.
Instead, he asked,
"Did anyone ever mention unusually high blood pressure during your pregnancy?"
I frowned.
"No."
"I was told everything looked normal."
Dr. Morales glanced down at the chart.
"That's interesting."
"Why?"
"Because according to the records transferred from your obstetrician..."
"...you missed every sign of severe preeclampsia."
I stared at him.
"What?"
"You should have been hospitalized days before your emergency."
The room suddenly felt colder.
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I."
He turned another page.
"There are missing lab reports."
My heartbeat quickened.
"What do you mean missing?"
"I mean they aren't here."
He looked directly at me.
"There should have been four weeks of monitoring."
"There are only two appointments."
"That isn't medically possible."
I tried to remember.
Those final weeks of pregnancy had become a blur.
Business dinners.
Foundation events.
Grant insisting I cancel appointments because investors were visiting.
His assistant constantly rearranging my schedule.
Then...
One memory surfaced.
Three weeks before Lily was born.
"I had an appointment."
Dr. Morales waited.
"Grant told me the office called to reschedule."
"Did you confirm that?"
I slowly shook my head.
"No."
He looked troubled.
"Mrs. Blackwood..."
"We need to obtain your original records."
Before I could answer, the unit doors opened.
A young nurse hurried inside carrying a clipboard.
"Doctor?"
She looked flustered.
"There's someone asking to see Mrs. Blackwood."
"I told them visitors aren't allowed."
Dr. Morales frowned.
"Who?"
The nurse hesitated.
"They said they're from Blackwood Development."
My heart sank.
Grant.
Already.
"I don't wish to see anyone."
The nurse nodded.
"I'll tell them."
She turned to leave.
Then paused.
"Actually..."
"They didn't ask for you."
"What?"
She looked uncomfortable.
"They specifically asked to see your daughter's medical file."
The room fell silent.
Dr. Morales' expression hardened immediately.
"Who authorized that?"
"No one."
"They claimed to represent the baby's father."
I looked at Lily.
Still sleeping peacefully inside her incubator.
Completely unaware that even here...
Someone was trying to reach her.
Dr. Morales quietly closed Lily's chart.
Then looked at me.
"No one touches her records without your written permission."
For the first time that day...
I wasn't thinking about Grant's affair.
Or the Board.
Or the reporters downstairs.
I was thinking about one question.
Why would Blackwood Development care about a premature baby's medical records?
Before anyone could answer, Dr. Morales opened the electronic chart.
His eyes narrowed.
Then he whispered something that made my blood run cold.
"Mrs. Blackwood..."
"...someone accessed your daughter's file thirty-seven minutes ago."
May you like
And according to the system log...
It wasn't anyone from this hospital.
