Chapter Three

Delany

"Momma tired."

"Yeah, baby, I am," I said with a yawn, my arms wrapped tightly around my daughter, as we patiently waited for the nurse to call her name. It was definitely not my preference to be in the emergency room at such an early hour. However, the sudden increase in my daughter's temperature to 104 degrees left me with no other option.

There was an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I refused to leave until someone could uncover what was bothering my baby. Since the day Harlow was born, frequent illnesses plagued my daughter. Everything from ear infections to pneumonia. Hospitalized three times already in her short life, I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't give a damn about what her pediatrician said. No child was prone to constant sickness.

I wanted answers.

Now.

"Harlow Campbell."

Gathering my daughter close, I stood, reaching for her bag and my purse as I followed the triage nurse to a cubical. Placing Harlow on the bed, I reached into her bag, looking for her favorite toy. A biker teddy bear. I don't know why I bought it, but when I saw it in the store, I thought she needed something that resembled her dad.

Whoever he was.

"And what brings Harlow into the emergency room tonight?" The nurse smiled at my daughter as she pressed a thermometer across her forehead. Only to frown when she saw the temp.

"Her fever spiked to 104. She still has a runny nose, and now there is a rattle in her chest when she tries to breathe. I brought the antibiotics her pediatrician gave her. They are not working. She is getting worse."

The nurse nodded, listening as I explained while she hooked up my daughter to a heart monitor, before placing the oxygen tube under her nose to help her breathe better.

Once she did her standard tests and got my daughter comfortable, the nurse left, telling me the doctor would be with us momentarily.

I should have known that was a lie, because five hours later, I was hanging on by a thread. In the time we'd been there, my daughter's temp spiked three times to 105, forcing the nurse to administer more antibiotics, and when Harlow started vomiting, everything went downhill from there.

My daughter was crying, wanting to go home, and I didn't blame her.

Out of patience, I flipped the curtain back and yelled, "Does anyone fucking care that my two-year-old is sick?"

"Ma'am." Another nurse rushed over to me. "Please. A doctor will see you soon."

"That's what the other nurse said five hours ago."

"I'm sorry, but we have other patients that are in worse condition than your daughter having the flu."

"It's not the fucking flu!" I screamed, making the nurse jump. Logically, I knew she was only doing her job and didn't deserve me screaming at her, but no one gave a damn about my daughter. She was sick, and all everyone did was prescribe antibiotics and send us on our way. I was fucking done with this shit.

"What is going on here?" A young doctor, probably right out of medical school, walked over, frowning as he reached for my daughter's chart.

"We've been here for five hours. My daughter's sick, and no one seems to care."

The young doctor nodded, flipping through the so pages quickly I knew there was no fucking way he read anything, because when he looked up and asked to see Hailey, I growled, "Her name is Harlow."

"Sorry," the guy said, walking past me. "Hello, Harlow. I'm Doctor Jenkins. I hear you have an upset tummy."

My daughter moaned, turning away from him and climbing into my arms.

"And how is mommy feeling?" the doc asked, looking directly at me while I tried to calm my daughter down.

"I'm tired. What do you think? My daughter is sick, and no one can figure out what's wrong with her."

The doctor nodded, writing something in her chart, before saying, "I see there is no father listed. Is it just you and Harlow?

"Yes."

"I also see that Harlow has been in and out of the emergency room since she was born."

"That's right. She started getting sick at two months old. No one can figure out what's wrong with her."

"And what about you? Do you have any help with Harlow?"

"No, it's just me."

"I see," the guy muttered, writing something else down.

"No, I don't think you do. From the moment my daughter was born, she's been sick, and every time I bring her into the emergency room, you assholes brush it off, saying she's got the flu. You prescribe her antibiotics and send us home and tell me to follow up with her pediatrician. None of you do a damn thing. I'm tired of it. You are supposed to be professionals. You took a fucking oath to do no harm, but that's what you are doing every time you send her home. She's not getting any better. Do your damn job!"

"What the hell is going on in here?" Another doctor walked over. Older and stern, the man looked at the young doctor for answers.

"It's nothing, Dr. Lansing. I was just about to send the mother home with antibiotics for her sick daughter. The kid clearly has the flu. That's all."

"You haven't even examined her!"

"Ma'am." Dr. Jenkins faced me. "Her symptoms are obvious. Your daughter has the flu."

I growled just as Dr. Lansing said, "Give me the patient's chart."

"I can handle a sick kid, Dr. Lansing."

"Wasn't asking, Dr. Jenkins. As chief of the emergency room, you work for me, not the other way around. Now give me the damn chart."

Dr. Jenkins sneered, handed the new doctor my daughter's chart, and left.

Dr. Lansing pulled up a stool and sat. "Please sit, Ms. Campbell, while I look over Harlow's chart."

Doing as he said, I sat on the bed with my daughter snuggled close, holding tight to her teddy. After a few minutes, Dr. Lansing frowned. "Was Harlow ever given an allergy test?"

"No. Her pediatrician said she was too young."

"Any blood work?"

"No, sir."

"Dr. Lansing will suffice, Ms. Campbell," he muttered as he went back to her chart.

"Helen, can you please page Dr. Jackson for me, and then call up to Peds and see if Marco is working tonight? If he is, have him come down here. He's the best phlebotomist we have."

"Right away, Doctor."

"Are you Dr. August Lansing?"

The older man looked up and nodded. "Yes."

"My friend, Finley James, gave me your card. Told me to call you on Monday."

The older man smirked. "And how is Finley doing? I haven't seen her in a while."

"Still ornery as ever."

He chuckled as a beautiful blonde woman walked over. "What's up, August?"

"Hey, Tess. Look at this and tell me what you think?" he said, handing the new doctor Harlow's chart, getting to his feet, reaching for his stethoscope. Sitting on the edge of the bed, August looked at my daughter and smiled. "Hello, Harlow. My name is August. Your mommy tells me that you are not feeling good."

"My tummy hurts."

"I know." August sighed. "Can I listen to your tummy?"

"Will it hurt?"

"Not even a twinge. I promise."

Harlow looked up at me, before scooting out of my lap and sitting between me and Dr. Lansing.

"That is one special teddy you have there. Does he have a name?"

"Stormy."

Dr. Lansing grinned. "That's a great name for a biker teddy bear. Does Stormy ride a motorcycle, too?"

Harlow giggled. "No. He's just my teddy."

"Can you keep a secret, Harlow?"

My daughter nodded.

"I ride a motorcycle."

"Ms. Campbell, I'm Dr. Tessa Jackson. What is the length between illnesses?"

"About two to three months," I answered while Dr. Lansing listened to Harlow's stomach. "Everything started when she was two months old."

"What changed when she was two months old?"

"I was breast feeding Harlow when my milk dried up. I didn't have a choice and had to switch her to formula. She hated it. She threw it up. It took me weeks to find a formula she could keep down."

"Did her pediatrician give her vitamin drops to supplement what she was missing from breast milk?"

"No," I whispered, shaking my head.

"And that's when the symptoms started?"

"Yes. Her pediatrician said it was normal. That some babies took longer to adjust to formula. That I shouldn't worry."

"And her pediatrician never suggested donor breast milk?"

"That's a real thing?"

"Yes, ma'am," Dr. Jackson said, placing Harlow's chart on the side table. "August, I'd run the standard panel. Then I suggest getting an MRI of her stomach to rule out anything else. Is Marco working tonight?"

"Already here, Tessa." A big black man walked in smiling happily. "I hear I have a date with a princess. I hope she likes me. I even dressed up."

Harlow smiled at the handsome man dressed in Disney scrubs, carrying a pink plastic bucket in his hands, with empty blood vials and other ominous things.

Looking at the doctors, August spoke first, "Ms. Campbell..."

"Please, call me Delany."

"All right." August smiled. "Delany, I want to admit Harlow for the night. With all the tests I'd like to do, it's easier just to keep her here. I'm going to run several blood panels on Harlow. To rule out the general ailments, like the flu and such, but I'm also going to test for bigger causes. I would also like to schedule Harlow for a complete allergy panel. Marco can easily administer that once she's settled in Peds. I also want to get an MRI of Harlow's stomach."

"She doesn't have the flu, does she?"

"No, Delany," Tessa said, lightly shaking her head. "In fact, I'm betting Harlow is deficient in one or more vitamins, which is aggravating whatever is going on in her little body. When the body is deficient in anything, it will rebel, and in Harlow's case, it's making her sick. When you were breastfeeding her, she got everything she needed. She was perfect. But when your milk dried up, the formula you gave her wasn't sufficient. It filled her stomach, but it lacked a mineral or vitamin that Harlow was getting from you."

"Oh my God. I did this to her."

"No, Delany. You did everything right. You are a good mom. You can't blame yourself for what you didn't know. In fact, Harlow's pediatrician should have recommended donor breast milk the first time Harlow got sick."

"Let's get Harlow admitted and up to Peds," Dr. Lansing ordered, getting to his feet. "Marco, I want the blood work, STAT."

"Got it," the big man said. "Well, my beautiful Princess, ready for an adventure?"

As Marco wheeled Harlow out of the room, I followed closely, not knowing that this place was about to become my home away from home.

"Delany, think," I heard my best friend Finley say, but all I could think about was Harlow. What was supposed to be a one-night stay had turned into a week, with test after test and scan after scan, until the doctors confirmed my worst fear.

My baby girl was sick.

Like really sick and had been since the day she was born. The second Dr. Lansing told me the truth, I didn't think twice. I called my friends and, like we had always done for each other, they rushed to the hospital and had been with me since. The only one missing was Robin, but she was working on a case that consumed her attention, but still she stopped by whenever she could.

Holding her hand, I noticed how truly small Harlow was. She had always registered as having below-average growth, but her pediatrician told me she would shoot up soon enough.

Fucking bitch lied.

She lied about so many things.

Thalassemia, or Mediterranean Anemia, they called it. An inherited blood disorder that caused abnormal hemoglobin, a protein that carries oxygen in red blood cells. Apparently, there were two types of Thalassemia—alpha and beta, and until the doctors knew which type my daughter had, they couldn't treat her. The second, Dr. Lansing and Dr. Tessa Jackson, told me what was wrong, I learned everything I could about the disease. But what I mainly learned... it was genetic; passed down from mother to child at birth.

I caused this.

My daughter was sick because of me and, depending on what type she had, only her father could save her. The problem with that was, I didn't know who the hell he was or where to find him.

"Del," Bella whispered, getting my attention. "I know it was a while ago, but can you remember anything about that night? Where you met him?"

"At the Bar & Grill," I muttered. "It was the day I lost my job at Calloway Investments because I refused to sleep with my boss. Peter Dowell said it was because of poor investment performance, but I knew the truth. Asshole had been trying to get down my pants since I started working there."

"I remember that fucknut," Ares sneered. "Should have let me kick his ass, or at least tell Mrs. Calloway. Her son Jason owns the company. After 9/11, he walked away from a life of being a firefighter and took up his father's mantel. Last I heard, he still runs the place today."

"It doesn't matter."

"What else do you remember?" Bella asked.

"That it was hot. I remember Mrs. Calloway arguing with some AC repair man. The guy was yelling at her, getting in her face. Then two bikers showed up and took care of everything."

"Wait a minute," Finley said, narrowing her eyes and leaning forward. "You never told us he was a biker."

"I didn't think it was relevant. I was already half drunk. I'd just lost my job. I still hadn't found a new apartment, and I barely had enough money in my account to buy groceries that week. My head was all over the place."

"But you're sure he was a biker?" Finley questioned.

I nodded. "Yes. That much I remember and the note he left on my nightstand, thanking me for a good time."

Before I could ask her why that was so important, Finley got up and walked out of the room, her phone to her ear.