---- Chapter 9 Hector Porter POV: The minutes in the hospital waiting room stretched into an eternity. | paced the sterile corridor, the rhythmic squeak of my shoes against the linoleum the only sound punctuating the frantic beating of my heart. Helene sat huddled on a plastic chair, silent and pale, looking utterly useless. Finally, a doctor emerged from the emergency room, his face grim. "Mr. Porter?" | rushed towards him. "My son. Is he..." "He's stable for now," the doctor said, his voice grave. "We've administered epinephrine and steroids. But it was a very close call. The allergic reaction was severe. He's lucky you got him here so quickly." Relief, so potent it made my knees weak, washed over me. "What caused it?" "A severe peanut allergy," the doctor confirmed. "He ingested a significant amount. Did you know about his condition?" My gaze snapped to Helene. She flinched, shrinking under my stare. ---- "Yes," | said, my voice tight with a fury | could barely contain. "We knew." The doctor nodded. "We'll need to keep him for observation, but he should make a full recovery." As the doctor walked away, | turned on Helene. "The sauce," | said, my voice dangerously low. "The shrimp sauce. What was in it?" She trembled, tears welling in her eyes. "I... | don't know, Hector. | just bought it from a gourmet shop. The label was in French. | thought it would be special." "You didn't check the ingredients?" | roared, my control finally snapping. "You know he has a deadly allergy, and you didn't check?" "I'm sorry!" she sobbed. "| forgot! | was just trying to make a nice dinner for you! For our family!" Her excuses were meaningless. My son had almost died because of her carelessness, her desperate need to impress me. Almeda's meticulous, color-coded charts of safe and unsafe foods flashed in my mind. Her separate set of pans and utensils, used only for Jacob's meals. Her constant vigilance. | had called it 'functional'. | had called it 'cold'. | had been a fool. "Get out," | said, my voice flat and dead ---- "What? Implicitly," she whispered, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Get out of this hospital. Get out of my house. And don't ever come near me or my son again. You're fired." She stared at me, her face crumbling as she realized | was serious. She opened her mouth to argue, to plead, but | turned my back on her. She was a ghost | was finally ready to exorcise. | spent the rest of the night by Jacob's bedside, watching his small chest rise and fall with each steady breath. He was so fragile. | had failed to protect him. | had allowed my own selfish grief and my obsession with the past to cloud my judgment, to endanger the most important person in my life. And in that quiet, sterile room, | finally admitted the truth to myself. | missed Almeda. | missed her quiet presence, her calming efficiency. | missed the way she ran our lives with an invisible, steady hand. | missed the safety and security she provided, something | had taken for granted every single day. | realized, with a sickening jolt, that the stability | thought | was providing for Jacob had actually been provided by her. + Late into the night, a thunderstorm rolled in. The sound of distant ambulance sirens drifted in from the street, and Jacob began to stir, whimpering in his sleep. His eyes flew open, ---- wide with a familiar terror. "No... no sirens..." he mumbled, his body starting to tremble. It was his phobia, a deep-seated trauma from the night his mother died. He began to cry, a heart-wrenching sound of pure fear. "Mommy," he sobbed. "| want my mommy." | tried to soothe him, to hold him, but he thrashed in my arms, his panic escalating. "No! Not you! | want Mommy!" The nurses couldn't calm him down. They couldn't administer a sedative because of the other medications in his system. He was working himself into a state of hysteria. In my desperation, my mind went to a place | hadn't allowed it to go. | thought of Helene. | thought her resemblance to Geneva might comfort him. | made a call | would instantly regret. When Helene arrived, breathless and hopeful, she rushed to Jacob's side. "I'm here, sweetie," she cooed, trying to stroke his forehead. "Mommy's here." Jacob's eyes focused on her. And then he did something | never expected. He screamed, a sound of pure revulsion, and kicked her away with all his might. "You're not my mommy!" he shrieked, his voice raw. "You're