The labor came too early. With their insurance canceled to afford the final payment to Ethan, they rushed to the public hospital. Carlos carried Sofia through the emergency doors, shouting for help while his heart pounded violently in his chest. Ava tried to comfort Isabella in the waiting room, but her own hands trembled.
Hours later, a tired doctor approached.
“She’s stable, but it was a premature placental abruption,” he explained. “We had to perform an emergency C-section. The baby was born at seven months. His lungs aren’t fully developed. He’ll need intensive care. We’ll require additional supplies and medication within forty-eight hours.”
Carlos felt hollow. He had nothing left to sell but furniture and tools. The days blurred into desperate attempts to raise money. At night, Ava found her father asleep over documents—contracts stamped with official seals, receipts bearing names that now felt poisonous.
“The police won’t move quickly,” Carlos admitted one dawn, voice hoarse. “Men like him have connections.”
Behind the wall, Isabella listened. Something fragile but fierce flickered inside her.
The next afternoon, the girls went to their Aunt Laura, Sofia’s younger sister. Laura worked as a housekeeper for a wealthy entrepreneur named Mr. Jonathan Reed. His estate was enormous—marble floors, fountains in the garden, air scented with wealth and polish.
“Stay quiet,” Laura warned nervously. “Mr. Reed has an important meeting.”
Ava drifted off on a sofa. Isabella wandered toward the hallway and froze.
A laugh echoed through the house.
Her stomach clenched.
It was the same laugh she remembered from their store—the laugh of Ethan Blake.
Without thinking, Isabella followed the sound to a grand office. Through the doorway, she saw Ethan standing confidently beside his partner, Marcus Hale. At the head of the table sat Mr. Reed, discussing investments, imports, Asia.
Isabella’s heart pounded. Her mother lying pale in a hospital bed. Her baby brother fighting to breathe. Her father breaking under guilt. And there they were—laughing.
She stepped inside.
“You’re a thief!” she cried, pointing straight at Ethan.
Silence—then laughter again.
“Whose kid is this?” someone muttered.
Ethan smiled coolly. “Probably confused.”
Laura rushed in, apologizing, pulling Isabella away. In a service room, she whispered anxiously, “You’ll get us fired!”