Chapter 6 - Confrontation at Midnight
By 8:00 PM, the storm outside matched the tempest inside my soul. Rain lashed against the nursery windows as I sat in the rocking chair, nursing the surrogate infant.
Mark walked in wearing his pajama pants, setting a glass of warm milk on the side table.
"You've been quiet all evening, babe," Mark said, sitting on the ottoman across from me. "Are you feeling okay? No fever?"
I looked at him—really looked at him. The man who had held my hand during delivery, who had cried when the nurse first laid the infant on my chest, was a sociopath.
"Mark," I said softly, setting the baby down into the crib. "Where is our daughter?"
Mark laughed nervously. "What are you talking about? She's right there in the crib."
I pulled the Pinnacle Genetics DNA report from my pocket and dropped it onto his lap.
The smile died on Mark’s face instantly.
He picked up the paper. His eyes scanned the 0.00% probability match, and for three seconds, absolute, terrifying silence filled the nursery.
"Emma..." Mark began, his voice dropping into a flat, dangerous pitch I had never heard before. "You shouldn't have done that."
"Where is she, Mark?!" I screamed, stepping toward him. "Where is my baby daughter?!"
Mark stood up slowly, towering over me. The warm, loving husband persona slipped away entirely, revealing a desperate, cornered predator.
"She’s where she belongs, Emma," Mark hissed, grabbing my upper arms in a iron grip. "She’s with a family that can give her tens of millions of dollars! Montgomery Global wiped my $1.2 million debt and put $2 million cash into an offshore trust for us! For Max’s college! For our future!"
"You sold our baby?!" I shrieked, striking his chest with my fists. "You monster! You disgusting coward!"
"Listen to me!" Mark growled, shaking me violently. "Evelyn Montgomery’s baby was born brain-dead at 1:00 AM! Richard Montgomery offered me three million dollars on the spot to swap the infants before the birth was officially logged! If I didn't take the deal, my creditors were going to break my legs and take our house!"
"I don't care about the house!" I screamed. "I want my child!"
"It’s too late!" Mark yelled, pushing me back against the wall. "The paperwork is signed! The hospital administration was paid off! If you go to the police, I go to prison for twenty years, social services takes Max, and you get left with nothing!"
"I don't care if you rot in hell!" I spat.
Mark pulled a pre-filled syringe from his pocket. My eyes widened in horror.
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"I’m sorry, Emma," Mark whispered, his eyes wild with panic. "You're having severe postpartum psychosis. The doctors are going to come take you for a seventy-two-hour psychiatric hold while I handle this."
He lunged at me with the needle.
