Chapter 8: Ava’s Battle
Ava looked impossibly small beneath the surgical lights.
Her fingers were barely large enough to curl around the tip of Marcus’s index finger.
He stood beside the incubator wearing a sterile gown and mask.
The neonatal surgeon explained that a vessel near Ava’s heart had failed to close.
Without surgery, her lungs would continue filling with fluid.
“With surgery?” Marcus asked.
“She has a strong chance.”
“How strong?”
The surgeon hesitated.
“Strong enough that we should proceed.”
Khloe arrived in a wheelchair against medical advice.
Her face was pale.
A nurse had wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, but her hands still trembled.
Marcus stepped away from the incubator.
Khloe did not look at him.
She reached through the access port and touched Ava’s tiny foot.
“Mommy’s here,” she whispered. “You don’t have to be brave alone.”
Marcus turned his face away.
Khloe noticed.
For one second, the anger inside her weakened.
Then she remembered why he was crying.
Not only because Ava was sick.
Because every part of their daughter’s life had been built on secrets.
The surgeon asked them to sign the consent form.
Marcus reached for the pen.
Khloe took it first.
“I’m her mother.”
“And I’m her father,” Marcus said softly.
Khloe looked at him.
“I don’t know who you are.”
The words landed harder than any accusation.
Marcus stepped back.
Khloe signed.
Before Ava was taken away, Marcus leaned near the incubator.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Khloe heard him.
She did not know whether he was speaking to Ava, to her, or to the dead parents whose daughter he had married under false pretenses.
The surgery began at 4:06 a.m.
At 4:19, Detective Ortiz called.
Isabella had disappeared.
The officer outside her room had been found unconscious in a supply closet.
The hospital camera system had gone offline for exactly ninety-seven seconds.
Marcus checked his coat pocket.
His phone was gone.
So was the backup access card he carried behind the case.
Gabriel rushed toward the security office.
Khloe remained outside the operating room.
Then the phone on the wall beside her rang.
She answered.
Isabella’s voice whispered through the line.
“Your daughter is fighting for her life while the men around you continue lying.”
Khloe gripped the receiver.
“Where are you?”
“Closer than you think.”
“What do you want?”
“For you to understand that Marcus was not the only Thorne watching your parents that night.”
A cold silence followed.
May you like
Then Isabella said four words.
“Ask him about Adrian.”
