00: Prologue

He felt now that he was not simply close to her, but that he did not know where he ended and she began.

—Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

An ear-wrenching scream tore through the hallways of St. Gerald’s Memorial Hospital, which caused everyone, patients and staff alike, to stop whatever it was they were preoccupied with at that moment as they tried to locate the source from which the hellish noise had emitted. All eyes descended on the stretcher upon which a heavily pregnant young woman laid spread. She was panting heavily.

The harsh fluorescent lights revealed the liquid slicked sheen of her agonized face, which was covered in tears and mucus. Sweat rolled off her in rivulets, leaving the fabric of the elastic wife beater she has on soaked, and for a moment all was silent as the paramedics streaked past, but this peace was broken once more by another chilling scream followed by the ugly sound of vomiting as she turned her face to the side and retched out the contents of the meager lunch she’d had that afternoon.

“I’m going to die,” Vivienne said to no one in particular as she looked up at the ceiling that appeared as if it were running, and her words were met with a hard squeeze of the hand she had wrapped up in her step mother’s.

“Don’t be dramatic, girl,” Willa Hargreaves said, and even though she smiled outwardly her eyes shone with a hard flat malice. In fact, Vivienne wouldn’t put it past her to smile as she suffered.

Another contraction blew through her, promptly derailing her train of thought and Vivienne screamed. A far off part of her brain knew that the baby inside her had stopped moving, and she understood that this was not a good thing.

“Stop screaming!” Willa cut in sharply. “You’re attracting attention.”

She must have picked up on the strange way the paramedics started to look at her because her façade of the caring mother fell promptly back in place, and she donned an expression of utmost worry.

A familiar burning hatred curled in her heart as she began to tenderly stroke her step daughter’s head while running alongside the stretcher. She wished the neighbors hadn’t heard Vivienne’s screams and called 911. The wretch was better off dead to everyone anyways. She looked down to find that Vivienne had fainted, and fought back the smirk which threatened to surface.

Maybe it wasn’t too late after all.

They rounded a sharp corner, and one of the paramedics who’d put an oxygen mask over Vivienne’s unconscious face pulled away, holding up a hand to stop Willa in her tracks as nurses in blue scrubs joined their ranks.

“I’m sorry miss, but past this point you cannot follow,” he explained in an apologetic tone. “You’re not immediate family.”

Willa tried to appear distraught, but inwardly she let out a triumphant whoop.

“I’m her mother,” she said as a single tear rolled down her cheek. The paramedic offered an empathic nod. “Will she be alright?”

He let out a resigned sigh. “We’ll do our best, ma’am. But she’s bleeding a lot.”

Willa gasped, clutching a hand to her chest as she swayed dangerously like she too would fall unconscious. To any onlooker it would’ve appeared as if she was heartbroken, but in truth, the tears that began to roll down her blush stained cheeks were tears of relief.

She couldn’t wait to hear the bad news!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀•

Michael Hargreaves arrived at about eleven p.m. and as soon as his eyes landed on his step wife they hardened. Willa looked up at him and flashed the smile which had ensnared his heart and still continued to do so, but he wasn’t about to let her latest misstep slide.

“Why didn’t you tell me that Vivienne was in labor!?” he bellowed, and the veins at the corner of his neck rose prominently. Willa got up and made to kiss him on the cheek, but he held out a hand to keep her at bay, continuing his tirade.

“Why didn’t you call 911 when you heard her contractions begin?! You didn’t take care of her, and now my only child is in labor and I may lose her forever. Left to you I would’ve still been at the office.”

“My love,” Willa began, sensing she was on quicksand and would need to act fast if she hoped to come out of this unscathed. She let her bottom lip tremble, and tears pearled at the corner of her eyes. “All I’ve ever done is tried to be a loving mother to your daughter, even after all of her wicked lies against me! And now you accuse me of not caring enough. How dare you?”

At her reaction Michael felt his anger drain out of him, and he moved to envelop her in his arms but this time it was Willa who stepped back, giving a vehement shake of her head. “Don’t touch me!”

How could he have said all those things, he berated himself, she was obviously as worried as he was about Vivienne’s wellbeing. In fact, her eyes were red and it appeared as if she’d been crying before he arrived. But then there was the fact that she hadn’t rushed Vivienne to the hospital when her labor pangs began.

Why would she do that? Michael asked himself, and he was about to voice this observation when the doors of the operating room burst open and a wry-faced nurse came rushing out. He felt himself go dizzy with worry at the sight of her scrubs, which were stained with a liberal amount of blood.

She looked like a character straight out of a horror movie!

He could feel a wad of bile begin to rise up in his throat as she purposefully began to approach him, and knew he wouldn’t be able to withstand it if there was no good news regarding Vivienne.

“Michael Hargreaves?” the nurse asked, and at his weak nod she began, “Congratulations. Your grandson was born alive and healthy at—”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about that child,” he cut her off. “Tell me my baby girl is alright.”

The nurse frowned, and Michael felt a pit open up in his stomach. “As of right now she is, but she’s lost a lot of blood and she might be in need of a transfusion. I’ll need you to excuse me as I go get some blood. But we’ve had a shortage lately.”

Even before she completed her statement he had begun to nod and roll up his sleeves, much to Willa’s horror.

“Are you offering to donate?” she asked her husband, and when he nodded, saying nothing she turned to face the nurse, scandalized. “You’re telling me that in this hospital there’s not a single bag left in the blood bank?”

The nurse gave a contrite nod. “I’m sorry ma’am. Our O-negative supplies have been depleted. It’s a state wide problem.”

Willa’s nose flared in anger, but she was stilled by the feeling of her husband’s hand as it wrapped around her arm.

“It’s okay my love,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek before turning to face the nurse. “Let’s get this over with.”

Within half an hour he returned, and Willa looked up to find her husband wearing a devastated expression on his face. He staggered into a wall and she rushed up to offer support, slowly lowering him in the chair beside hers.

“It wasn’t a match,” he said in a whisper, and at her puzzled frown he explained. “Our blood types weren’t a match. I’m B-positive and she’s O-negative.”

A long moment passed, and then Willa prodded gently, “What does this mean?”

Michael said nothing, and she was about to give up on ever getting an answer from him when he replied.

“It means I’m not her biological father.”

Willa sat back, stunned, but when the impact of the words hit her she felt an impenetrable sense of vindicated joy suffuse her, and if Michael hadn’t been around she would’ve started to dance. Vivienne was not his daughter!

Oh, it was almost too good to be true. Somehow deep inside she must’ve known, because why else would she have hated the girl so instinctively ever since she knew her? Willa couldn’t help herself.

“I always knew it,” she said to herself. “That—that malicious liar, I knew there was no way she could’ve been related to you. And now we find out her mother was a whore on top of all that?”

Apparently this was taking it too far as Michael shot her a glare so full of venom it instantly shut her up. After a while he made to get up, but he staggered into his chair and Willa wiped the smug grin off her face, resting her hands on his shoulders.

“You need to sit down, honey,” she chided softly, but he shook his head as he loosened the neck tie he had on.

“No,” Michael said, getting up. “I can’t breathe. I-I need some air. I need to go home.”

He blinked blearily at Willa, who saw the telltale sheen in his eyes which betrayed the fact that he was about to cry. “Please take care of her before I get back. Can you do that for me?”

“Of course,” Willa replied. “Of course, you shouldn’t have to ask. Get out of here and go get some rest. I love you.”

He swallowed, gave her a grateful nod, but did not say the words back before turning and stalking away.

Willa watched her husband walk away and lowered herself into the uncomfortable hospital seat. Her body ached from seating on them for so long, but slowly a devious smile crept over her features as a plan began to form in her head.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀•

Vivienne came awake at the sound of beeping monitors, and absentmindedly she ran a hand over her stomach—a comforting gesture she’d picked up over the course of her nine months of pregnancy—only to find that it was flat.

Her eyes flew open and she sat up with a shocked gasp, only to be greeted by the beautiful and usually sneering face of her step mother. Except now she wasn’t sneering. In fact, she had on the widest smile that Vivienne had ever seen her wear.

“My baby!” she gasped, eyes flying around the sterile—and most worryingly empty—room. “Where is my child?”

“It’s alive, so there’s no need to worry on that front,” Willa informed, and Vivienne felt herself sag with relief into the bed though the fact that the older woman continued to smile at her left her with a feeling of apprehension.

“It’s unfortunate, of course,” she continued, “that it survived, but a bigger tragedy is that somehow you made it out. You won’t just die and make it all easy for us, will you?”

Perhaps it was the fact that her nerves were frayed from the pain she’d just endured, but she felt the sharp sting of her step mother’s words dig into her skin and she winced, barely managing to hold her tongue as years of experience had taught her that anything she said would end up getting twisted by the time it got to her father.

“Where’s my dad?” she said instead, all of a sudden noticing her father’s gaping absence.

The question, it appeared, was what Willa had been waiting for as she drifted forward and plopped herself on the mattress beside Vivienne’s prone form. She reached forward and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear in an almost maternal gesture.

“Oh, darling, he wants nothing to do with you.”

“You’re lying,” Vivienne deadpanned without missing a beat.

“Am I?” her step mother retorted, eyes gleaming victoriously. “Because I know for a fact that he left as soon as the blood results proved that he is not your father.”

Vivienne scoffed, but as the woman beside her continued her tale undaunted, the smile on her face died slowly.

“Before he left, he said he never wanted to lay his eyes on trash like you and your child again. And I can swear that if you come within a mile of my husband and me, I’ll lock you up in a prison cell to rot and make sure you never see your son again.”

At the mention of her son she bared her teeth, sitting up. “Don’t ever speak of my child, you bitch.”

She didn’t see the slap coming, and by the time her ears registered the sharp crack of it her face had begun to sting and unbidden tears rose up in her eyes.

“I think you have it wrong,” Willa said, gathering up her handbag. “Your whore mother was a bitch, and as they say, like mother like daughter.”

She cast a glance around the room, before flashing a syrupy sweet smile. “I’ll have the nurses know you’re ready to check out.”

“But I’m not,” Vivienne protested weakly.

“Except you are, because you have no health insurance and we are not paying for it, surely you don’t want to start off mothering with hospital bills looming: I hear raising a child gets more expensive with every passing day.”

Vivienne blanched, feeling like she was in a bad dream as she watched the woman who’d tormented her for most of her life saunter away.

This was a bad dream, she decided, and she was still asleep. She willed this to be true even as a dismayed nurse brought her child to her, and asked her to get changed out of her hospital scrubs and into her clothes, which were still stained. She willed it to be true even as staff watched her get escorted out of her room by two security guards, all while the baby in her arms slept contentedly.

Outside, a flash of thunder cut through the sky, and softly after a loud clap followed—startling her baby awake. The child looked around at his surroundings, and it was as if he understood what had happened as he began to cry to Vivienne’s dismay.

All attempts at soothing him proved futile, and she walked through empty streets until she came upon a park bench, which she tiredly plopped herself on before beginning the process of feeding her newborn.

Tears threatened to spill out of her eyes as the cold night air hit her, along with a feeling of utter helplessness that they now faced, but she fought them back and steeled her nerves.

There would be time to fall apart later. For now, there was a baby to take care of.