His Deal, My Son's Death

rpened into something terrifying. Leo, my eight-year-old, was curled on

lly hurts," he whimpered

husband, Ethan. The phone rang, and rang, and rang, before clicking ov

rently in a critical funding meeting fo

y. I didn' t leave a message. I called again. And again. On t

m in the middle o

in. His fever is 103. I think it' s his

ly just ate something bad. Give him some Tylenol. I ca

a doctor, E

m home," he said, his t

ne wen

r me. I scooped him into my arms, his body surprisingly light, and ran out of the house. I drove like

iting. Every second was an eternity. They finally took him back, and I was left alone in a sterile,

His face was a blank mask.

uring the appendectomy. His appendix had ruptured. W

tine surgery. It wasn' t supposed to end like this. The world tilted, the

s not possible. I

t now," the doctor said, hi

on. I want t

so small, so still. The vibrant life that had filled him just this morning was gone. A sob tore from my throat, a raw, anima

e had passed when my phone

we secured the funding. Is Leo feeling any bett

ne, my entire body shaking with a grief so p

at' s going on?" His voice

d my voice, a

s dead,

laugh. "That' s not funny, Olivia.

tal. His mother, Eleanor, saw my face and her own crumpled. His father

pital called us," Eleanor whisp

, the last of my s

her shoulder. "Please, just

more supportive than my own. They looke

n his expensive suit, a triumphant smile

What' s wrong?

orward. "Your so

nced down at it. I saw the notification on his screen. It was an Instagram post. A picture of him and a woman, Dr. Evelyn Reed, his brilliant, troubled

am, Richard saw it too. His face, already

quiet hospital corridor. He lunged at Ethan, his powerful frame

chaos, I saw two orderlies approaching with a gurney

push through the crowd. "Don'

me. The world spun, the sounds of shouting and cryin