The Dispatcher's Crime and My Vengeance

Chris continued, "If you'd just spoken clearly to the dispatcher from the start, Wesley might already be in the ambulance now."

A scornful laugh escaped my lips. Tessa's abrupt shift in demeanor sealed my suspicions—this pair of traitors had entangled themselves long ago.

Memories flooded back from my previous life: Tessa draped in a flawless white gown, snuggling against him with a saccharine smile.

The invite's message taunted me: [Moving on from past burdens, embracing a fresh start together.]

Past burdens? My son's life and our shattered home were just burdens they needed to move on from?

I locked eyes with the man who shared my bed and hissed, "The ambulance won't come. If you truly care about Wesley, step out of my way now."

His eyes widened in shock, and he staggered back. I ignored him, cradling Wesley Brock as faint tremors rippled through his fevered body, and bolted for the elevator.

Chris's pounding footsteps and desperate shouts trailed me, but I blocked them out, racing to the car.

I gently secured my limp son in the backseat, fastening the buckle with care. His cheeks glowed crimson, his breath ragged and shallow. Each wasted moment clawed at my soul.

I dove into the driver's seat, twisted the key, and ignited the engine. A faint hiss whispered first, then the dashboard erupted with a tire pressure alarm. The front right tire deflated rapidly before my eyes.

I leaped out to inspect, spotting a jagged hole in the rubber. Crouching low, I spied a glittering nail tip nearby and ground my teeth.

It was one of Tessa's press-on nails. She'd flashed them yesterday in the elevator, deliberately flipping her hair.

It dawned on me that she had orchestrated this, sabotaging my tire to trap us. But Wesley's fever erupted without warning, so how had she timed it so precisely? Unless...

A darker thought crossed my mind, chilling me to the core. I pocketed the nail tip, gathered my wailing son, and sprinted to the complex's exit.

The night streets stretched eerily silent, vehicles whooshing past sporadically, yet no vacant taxi appeared. Wesley's gasps weakened in my arms, and desperation surged in me.

I dashed into the road and flung my arms wide to halt traffic.

Tires shrieked against the pavement as a car screeched to a stop mere inches away. The window buzzed down, and the driver thrust his head out, bellowing, "What the hell? Are you suicidal?"

"Please!" I surged forward. "My son's fading fast. Help us reach the nearest hospital!"

I tilted Wesley into view, revealing his labored wheezes. The driver's tirade halted mid-breath. He sucked in air sharply and flung open the door. "Hop in!"

I tumbled into the back, and he slammed the accelerator, hurtling toward the children's hospital.

I cradled Wesley, staring at his crimson cheeks as my nails dug into my palms.

He was fine yesterday. What sparked this inferno? That persistent cough... Could it stem from an allergy? But how had an allergen invaded our home?

My mind racing, I yanked open the home security app on my phone. In seconds, the truth unveiled itself.

With the driver's help, we made it to the hospital fast. No sooner had I placed Wesley on the gurney than that dreaded voice sliced the air. "Irene? How is your son?"

Tessa lingered a few steps away, her expression sculpted with feigned worry.