SLOANE
It's late at night and I'm cleaning Cade with a cold towel, but my baby is sweating so badly the fabric is soaked through in seconds. My hands are shaking, trembling so hard I can barely hold the towel and I'm terrified.
Absolutely terrified.
"What's wrong with you, baby?" I whisper, pressing the towel to his forehead. "Please, just tell Mommy what's wrong."
But he doesn't answer. Just stares at me with those eyes that shouldn't be glowing, that can't be glowing because that's not possible, that's not real and he clutches his chest like something inside him is trying to claw its way out.
"It hurts, Mommy," he whimpers, and the sound breaks something inside me. "It hurts so bad."
"I know, baby. I know." I'm crying now, tears streaming down my face as I wipe his forehead again.
