She Fed My Son Pet Milk, I Revenged

Chapter 2

When it came time for my post-birth cleaning again, Darren volunteered to fetch hot water to wipe me down.

Just as he reached to lift my blanket, I slammed my hand down to hold it in place and snapped, "You don't need to do that. Go get my son and bring him here so I can see him."

His hand froze mid-movement. His voice stayed calm and even as he said, "The baby has a slight yellowing and is under blue light therapy right now. You don't need to worry."

My heart seized up. I was just about to ask how bad it was when his phone blared to life. I could just make out a woman's voice through the receiver, mixed with the faint wail of a baby.

A woman's intuition coiled cold dread in my gut. I grabbed Darren's arm without thinking and blurted out, "Where is my son getting his blue light therapy?"

“Elena, the baby won't stop crying, you need to come quick!”

Instead of Darren answering me, it was Haydee's voice that came crackling through his phone.

My heart jumped right into my throat, and I screamed at him, "Darren! How dare you keep my son at that homewrecker's place!"

A searing pain ripped through the surgical incision on my abdomen. I tried to push myself up, but my body wouldn't move an inch.

Darren hung up the phone and frowned at me like I was being unreasonable.

"Haydee just loves kids, that's all. She only wanted to hold him. Stop being so dramatic and making a big deal out of this."

He paused, and his voice hardened a little, "Stop calling her a homewrecker over and over. You'll hurt that poor girl's feelings. I went to her willingly. Once you get to know her better, you'll see how innocent and kind she really is."

My incision throbbed so bad my face drained of all colors. But he didn't even give me a chance to speak.

He just patted the edge of my bed and said, "Get some rest. I'll go check on things. Don't worry." Then he hurried out the door.

My heart was pounding out of my chest as I gritted through the pain and ordered my bodyguard to lift me into a wheelchair and wheel me to Haydee's ward.

The ear-splitting, heart-wrenching cry of my baby echoed all the way down the hospital corridor.

Anxiety clawed at my chest, making it hard to breathe.

The second we pulled up to Haydee's door, I saw her inside. She was holding my son and cooing at him all fake sweet.

"Baby, stop crying, okay? You're scaring your stepmom. Stepmom didn't mean it. I love you so much. Don't be mad at me, okay? Otherwise, I don't know what I'll tell your mom."

Right then, my baby spit up all over her. His face turned purple, his cries went thin and weak, and his breath came in ragged, shaky gasps.

Even so, Darren just stood there patting Haydee's shoulder, soothing her.

"It's okay, it's okay. All the babies spit up. Don't panic." His eyes weren't on my son at all—they were only on that woman.

Staring at my baby's blue-purple face, panic clawing at my throat, I whipped around to my bodyguard and screamed, "Go get a doctor now!"

Darren heard my voice and looked over, frowning like I was being dramatic.

"He just choked on a little milk. Patting his back will fix it."

My gaze flicked to the formula can on Haydee's nightstand, and there it was, printed clear as day across the label: Specialty Goat Milk Formula for Pets.

My legs turned to jelly instantly. Rage coiled hot and tight in my chest, and I shook as I jabbed a finger at the can.

"That's a formula made for dogs! Darren, you let that homewrecker feed our son dog formula?!"

He froze, disbelief written all over his face. He grabbed the can off the nightstand, and when his eyes landed on the words 'Specialty Goat Milk Formula for Pets' stamped on the label, his face drained of every last drop of color, going pale as a sheet.

Just then, doctors burst through the door, urgent as can be.

"He needs emergency resuscitation! Hurry, get the resuscitation bay prepped!"

The whole team of doctors and nurses scrambled frantically, whisking my son off to the emergency resuscitation room as fast as their legs could carry them.

Darren and I both waited outside the resuscitation room, my hearts hanging by a thread.

He saw how on edge I was and spoke slowly, trying to calm me down, "Don't worry. Our son will be fine."

I didn't even lift my eyes to look at him.

He paused for a beat, then tried again. "Haydee didn't do this on purpose. She's just really careless, I hope you—"

I cut him off mid-sentence, my gaze cold as a blade, and spat every word out slowly and deadly, "You better pray my son pulls through. If he doesn't, both of you will go to the grave with him."