Chapter 15

This situation feels utterly surreal.

Isadora, my estranged sister is fighting for her life in the ICU, and suddenly, I'm facing the prospect of caring for her children. The situation is completely overwhelming.

The biggest question that haunts me is, why now? Why did Izzy reach out to me after all this time?Why does she think I'm capable of taking care of her children? For all she knows, I hate kids, and . . . well, she doesn't know me.

If it were my child, I wouldn't entrust her to Izzy or Cedric.

Focus on this meeting, Ameline. You can make assumptions later.

I take a deep breath and look around. The conference room at Seattle Memorial seems out of place compared to the emotional chaos inside me. Its walls, a clinical white, are neatly lined with medical charts, contributing to an ambiance that feels more academic than compassionate.

The lengthy table at the center holds a gathering of serious faces. Next to me, Gabe's hand clasps mine firmly.

Dr. Voss starts the discussion. "Izzy's condition is stable and complex—" He looks around the table. After his colleagues nod, he continues, "Her alcohol abuse has likely contributed to hypertension and atrial fibrillation, both major risk factors for the stroke she suffered."

Dr. Navarra, reinforcing his point, adjusts her glasses and glances at her tablet. "The heart issues she's facing are severe. Her irregular heartbeat is a direct consequence of her long-term alcohol abuse. Do we know when this started?"

I shake my head because she moved out of the house when she was eighteen. Who knows what happened while she lived in Portland, and then . . . Well, there's the part where she stopped speaking to me for years because her father said so.

A father who's not around to look after his children. I should wake her up and ask, "Where is Richard, Izzy? He certainly didn't give you enough money to feed them, did he?"

Okay, that's petty, but no one could blame me.

Dr. Kovalenko is the psychiatrist specializing in addiction medicine. "We believe the opioid abuse further exacerbated her risk for stroke."

I can't help but interlace my fingers tightly. "What does this mean for her recovery?" I swallow hard. "Will she even recover?"

"We don't know the extent of the brain damage yet," Dr. Voss responds. "She's in an induced coma and until the swelling in the brain reduces, we can't take her out of it."

Dr. Thibodeaux, the rehab specialist, offers a small but hopeful smile. "Once we know her prognosis, we can discuss next steps. Keep in mind that recovery will definitely be slow. When we learn more about her situation, we'll be able to create a plan for her. We recommend that she goes to a specialized rehabilitation facility—one that addresses both her physical and mental health needs."

Gabe nods. "Is she having withdrawals now?"

Dr. Kovalenko leans forward. "She is, and it's going to be hard to help her if she doesn't have a way of communicating with us. Again, we're not sure yet what was affected by the stroke. It could be her speech, mobility . . . everything will be addressed after she wakes up and while she's here. We'll give you the necessary recommendations for when it's time for her to head to a facility."

"What about Caleb? Her baby is only a few weeks old." I voice the question weighing heavily on my mind. "If she was using during the pregnancy, would he be affected?"

The lack of research on my part leaves me anxious. I could wait to power on my computer when I get to Gabe's penthouse, but Google might not know as much as the doctors.

Dr. Voss exchanges a glance with Dr. Kovalenko before responding. "Alcohol and opioid use during pregnancy can have significant impacts. There's a risk of developmental delays, low birth weight, and withdrawal symptoms in newborns, known as Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome."

Dr. Kovalenko adds, "The symptoms can vary, from feeding difficulties to seizures in severe cases. It's crucial to monitor the baby closely. Has he been tested yet? Check with his pediatrician."

Gabe, who has been paying more attention to his phone than the conversation, clears his throat, drawing the room's attention. "We don't know the answer to those questions. So far, we've learned that he was born at home with a midwife's assistance."

I open my mouth to ask how he knows, but close it, remembering that he mentioned he would do some digging around Izzy's medical history.

"My wife and I haven't been in Isadora's life for years. We got a call this morning that the little ones were at the neighbors' place," he continues. "I'll make sure to get Caleb examined as soon as possible."

"Instead of taking him to the pediatrician, we recommend bringing him to the pediatric emergency room," Dr. Kovalenko says. "They can assess his health comprehensively and provide the necessary care."

My heart races with the urgency of the situation.

"It's the best course of action. We'll coordinate with the pediatric team to be ready for his arrival." Dr. Voss tilts his head toward the exit. "If you have any other questions, please let us know."

* * *

It doesn't takeus long to head back to Piper's place to pick up Caleb and return to the hospital. During the car ride he's wailing so hard, at some point I feel like I'm too overwhelmed and about to lose my mind.

"You never told me what your specialty is," I say as we walk toward the pediatric emergency room with Caleb.

Gabe, who's carrying the heavy seat, glances at me a couple of times before huffing.

"Is it bad?" I dare to ask, wondering if he went into plastic surgery and is just applying Botox to rich people.

He shakes his head. "Not really. But right now, I wish I had gone into pediatrics. It would've been easier than having this little one screaming at the top of his lungs during the car ride."

"Two words, noise-canceling headphones." I grin.

"Umm, that's three," he corrects me.

"I'm sure I said three. You just can't hear me anymore after all the crying," I joke.

He shakes his head. "So, were you able to text your boss?"

"Yep. He wants me to email him everything I have," I say, then bite my lip.

"What are you not telling me?"

"Hunter said he knows someone who could help us erase the recording where Cora calls 9-1-1," I whisper, afraid someone will hear us. "It'll help us with the custody petition."

"So I guess we're going to have to go to court," he remarks.

Gabe leans back, eyes narrowed assessing me. Knowing I'm hiding something from him. "What else are you hiding?"

"He mentioned that being married would help me," I continue.

A slow, smug grin spreads over Gabe's stupid handsome face. He winks, the jerk. "Of course, that helps you." He smirks. "So glad my plan came in handy again."

I resist the urge to smack him, my traitorous pulse kicking up at his teasing. We need to focus but the scent of his cologne keeps distracting me, conjuring memories I can ill afford right now.

"It was a terrible plan," I add.

"Nope, you're wrong. It was fucking amazing. I was in love with you and I asked you to spend the rest of your life with me. The execution was atrocious, though," he says defensively.

I want to argue with that, but Dr. Voss intercepts us, steering us through the automatic doors marked "Personnel Only." Soon, Gabe and I stand by a crib where Caleb is inconsolable while the nurse begins to check his vitals. His cries fill the room, a clear sign of his distress.

My arms ache to snatch him up and spirit him away from this awful place. Instead I clench my fists and endure as the nurse mechanically manipulates his tiny body, assessing vital signs while an impassive doctor observes. Once she's done, said doctor is the one who conducts a thorough examination.

Mercifully, they soon step back. The doctor, a petite woman with sharp eyes, introduces herself as Dr. Saunders before launching directly into diagnosis.

"Mr. and Mrs. Decker," she begins, maintaining a composed demeanor despite the ongoing cries. "I'm afraid Caleb's presenting with symptoms that point to a severe case of Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome."

Gabe's jaw tightens. "What does this mean?"

"The crying, tremors, and low weight point to significant prenatal substance exposure," she explains. "He's in acute discomfort and needs care beyond the basics."

Hearing those clinical words, my anxiety spikes as I watch Caleb, his small body struggling with each sob. "How do we help him?"

"He needs specialized attention," Dr. Saunders replies. "Medications to manage his symptoms, a calm environment for recovery, and close monitoring. Admission to the PICU."

Reaching out to Caleb, I gently touch his hand. Despite his distress, there's a strength in his tiny grip. "What about his future?"

"With dedicated care and regular medical follow-ups, he has a chance for a healthy development," she assures us. "But it's important to stay vigilant about his development."

Gabe and I share a look. "We're prepared for anything."

We are? I mean, sure. But how long are we talking about? He'll be around a week, two tops? I have to go back home. I don't even know if I can bring them with me. Actually, I can't have them with me. My life is designed for a single woman—no children allowed.

"As we said, we'll admit him immediately," Dr. Saunders informs. "You can come and go or we'll be?—"

"Admit him, stabilize him, and I'll make a few calls, so we're prepared for him to stay," Gabe interrupts her. "If you don't mind, I'll call Dr. Hawkins, the head of the pediatric department, to arrange everything."

Dr. Saunders nods. "Of course."

I kiss Caleb's little forehead. "You'll be fine, sweetie."

Not sure about me though. I'm frightened by what could be his future, and what if Izzy can't take care of him? We have to make sure Cora is okay too. My sister neglected these kids, but why? She wasn't raised like that.

On our way to the penthouse, Gabe finally speaks. "This is going to be fine."

"It's too much," I mumble. "And I have to go back home . . . but it appears that I can't right now."

Gabe reaches over, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. "We'll figure this out."

"Who's going to stay with Caleb?" I ask. "I can't be with both of them, but neither one of them should be alone."

"Leave it to me. We'll have a big private room for Caleb and I'll get permission to use a room as a nursery where Cora can come to play often so she's not that far away from her little brother," he states. "There's also a second option but we won't cross that bridge until Dr. Hawkins and I discuss it. If you don't mind, we'll have to ask my family for help."

I scoff. "So they can call me a loser again?"

"That was my fault because I didn't handle anything . . . Well, I was pretty stupid."

"We can both agree that it was all your fault," I say.

The drive to the penthouse is a silent blur. When we finally arrive, the sight of Finn waiting with Cora brings a small sense of relief.

Finn nods at us as we enter. "She's been asking about her mom," he says, nodding toward Cora, who's playing quietly in the corner with a teddy bear.

I kneel down to Cora's level, trying to summon a smile. "Hey, sweetie, your mom is getting the help she needs. She'll be okay."

Cora looks up at me with big, questioning eyes. "Is Caleb okay, too?"

"Yes, he's getting help as well," I reply, my heart aching for this innocent girl.

Gabe steps beside me. "Why don't we get some dinner? How does pizza sound?"

Cora's face lights up at the mention of pizza. "I like pizza."

And for now, we pause and focus on feeding her and giving her some extra attention. The rest will have to wait.