The Good Son Dies First

I bought my five-year-old son a Captain America shield for his birthday.

But when I landed in New York, the hospital called.

"Your son died during the medical procedure your husband authorized."

Marcus had signed Axel up as a living donor. For his mistress's kid.

While our baby bled out on the operating table, Marcus was cutting birthday cake with his new family.

Even used Axel's favorite Superman pillow as decoration.

I stared at my child's mutilated corpse and made a promise.

You fed my baby to wolves for a whore's smile. Time to return the favor, Marcus.

Winter's POV

The Los Angeles sun was always too damn bright. But my heart had already flown back three thousand miles to New York.

The gallery show was finally over. I hauled my tired ass through the airport, clutching a beautifully wrapped box—a limited edition Captain America shield replica.

Tomorrow was Axel's fifth birthday. That kid was crazy about Captain America since he could talk. To get this goddamn collector's item, I'd called in every favor I had and paid triple the price.

Just thinking about how those blue eyes would light up when he saw his gift, how he'd sweetly say "Thank you, Mommy"—it made all the exhaustion from the past few days just melt away.

I was about to board when my phone buzzed.

Mount Sinai Hospital flashed on the screen.

"Is this Winter Sanchez?"

"Yeah, that's me. What happened?" My gut twisted.

"I'm sorry to inform you that your son, Axel Sanchez, died this afternoon at 2:14 PM from acute cardiopulmonary failure. You need to get down here right away."

I felt like I'd been hit by a truck.

Everything went quiet. Only the word "death" echoed in my ears.

The box hit the floor.

I frantically dialed Marcus's number.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Voicemail.

I tried again.

Still voicemail.

"Marcus! MARCUS, pick up the damn phone!" I screamed. People were staring, but I didn't give a shit.

Third time. Fourth. Fifth.

All fucking voicemail.

I don't remember getting on the plane or racing through New York's rain to the hospital. I was running on autopilot.

The morgue was freezing.

When the doctor pulled back the white sheet, I saw my Axel.

His tiny body lay on that cold steel table. His once-pink cheeks were now sunken and grayish-blue.

Dark purple bruises covered his thin back and arms. There was a massive needle mark on his spine, the skin around it black.

"This can't be happening... My Axel was perfectly healthy! He just had a little anemia!" I collapsed beside the table, hands shaking.

The doctor adjusted his glasses. "Mrs. Sanchez, your husband signed a medical trial consent form last week. Experimental procedure. They extracted bone marrow and blood from Axel for Tommy Grey. Axel was too young—his body couldn't handle it."

Tommy Grey.

Marlowe's son.

Marlowe—Marcus's college sweetheart. Single mom with a sick kid. Ever since she'd come back to New York six months ago, Marcus had been totally whipped. Buying her houses, cars, treating Tommy like his own son, all under the excuse of "helping an old friend."

But how? HOW?

My husband. Axel's biological father. How dare he put his own flesh and blood on an experimental table to save someone else's child?

"He signed the papers? How DARE he?!" Something metallic filled my throat.

I took Axel's stiff little hand. In his palm was a crushed piece of caramel—his favorite candy.

A nurse had tears in her eyes. "This kid was so brave... When they were extracting the bone marrow, he was shaking but didn't cry. Just held that candy and kept asking when Daddy was coming. We told him Daddy was busy, and he nodded and said when Daddy came, they could go to Disneyland..."

I lost my shit. I grabbed Axel and screamed.

"Axel, Mommy's here... I'm so sorry I left you..."

The nurse tried to comfort me, but I couldn't hear anything.

I kept stroking Axel's face, trying to warm him up, but his skin was ice cold.

Then my phone chimed.

Instagram notification.

Marcus had posted three minutes ago.

In the photo, Marcus wore an expensive sweater, holding Tommy's hand as the boy lay in a hospital bed. Tommy had a birthday hat on, a huge Iron Man cake in front of him.

In the background sat Axel's Superman pillow—the one he hugged every night. Marcus had given it to Tommy.

The caption read: "Standing by my little warrior Tommy. Happy 5th birthday, buddy. I'll always protect you. Everything's going to be okay."

Everything's going to be okay.

Everything's going to be OKAY?

My son was lying cold in a morgue, and Marcus was saying "everything's going to be okay."

My heart died.

My son had waited for his daddy on that operating table, in so much pain he'd crushed his candy.

And his father was trading my son's life for someone else's smile.

I don't know how long I sat there. Finally, I wiped my tears and stared at Axel's broken body. I hated myself for being so fucking stupid all these years.

Hated being so pathetic. Hated that I'd let Axel suffer to keep this fake family together.

None of that mattered now.

"Marcus. Marlowe." I touched Axel's face. "You're going to pay for what you did to Axel. With your lives."