Billionaire, I Am Not Your Wife! novel Chapter 10

Past Memories -2

And he had lived. My miracle baby.

But he’d been fragile. So fragile and the doctors had told me, that getting him past the infancy stage would require a lot of 24/7 care because he was allergic to a lot of things. Allergies to dairy, eggs, and nuts. Asthma that flared up with any change in weather or exposure to pollen. A compromised immune system that meant every cold turned into bronchitis, every scrape took weeks to heal, rather than days.

I’d been vigilant through it all, as I made sure I controlled his diet rigidly, kept him on a strict schedule, and I also went further to limit most of his fun activities to things that wouldn’t trigger his asthma or risk injury, not caring that my son didn’t like it and craved freedom, throwing tantrums to make a point, but I had stood firm through it all. Other mothers had thought I was overprotective, paranoid even. That it was normal for kids to have injuries, that keeping him coddled up, was asking for a ‘fairy’ son. That he would turn out liking dolls and pink things. I paid no heed to them because they had no ideas what my fears were, they hadn’t watched their child turn blue from an allergic reaction. They hadn’t rushed their baby to the ER three times in his first year of life. They hadn’t been told by doctors that one more serious infection could be fatal.

I’d kept Nick safe. I’d kept him alive. And he’d grown to hate me for it.

The memory of two weeks ago crashed over me as I recognized that day, I would never forget it as long as I breath-Nick’s pale, furious face as he’d screamed at me in the foyer. Katherine had taken him to Grant Park, had bought him ice cream even though she knew- SHE KNEW because I told her that he was lactose intolerant.

Nick had been sick all night, cramping and crying, and I’d stayed up with him, rubbing his back, giving him medication, cleaning up after him, promising him that the pain would pass soon enough and it will all be a thing of the past.

The next morning, Katherine had sent flowers with an apologetic note: “So sorry! I forgot about his allergy. He just looked so happy eating the ice cream!”

She’d forgotten. As if Nick’s health was some minor detail that could slip one’s mind.

But Nick hadn’t blamed Katherine. He’d told me I was being mean for being upset with her, that it was “just an accident,” that I was “making a big deal out of nothing.”

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Then there’d been the garden party at the Wilson estate. Katherine had insisted Nick come along, had promised to watch him carefully. She’d let him run through the flower beds, not only was that disrespectful since it was being cared for by a professional gardener, the flower beds were also full of the exact types of pollen that triggered his asthma. He’d had an attack so severe I’d had to use his emergency inhaler twice and had nearly taken him to the hospital.

Katherine had cried, had apologized profusely, had said she’d “never forgive herself.”

But she’d done it again the following week. Another minor incident that she pretended it wasn’t a big deal. Soccer in the rain. Nick had come home soaked and shivering, and despite my immediate intervention, making sure that he had a very warm bath, and dressed him up in dry clothes, and made him take preventive medication-he’d spiked a fever of 102 degrees by morning.

And still, still, when his fever hadn’t fully broken after two days, Nick had begged to go to the zoo with

Past Mempe

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Katherine and Logan. I’d said no. Absolutely not. He was still recovering, still weak, still at risk for his fever spiking again.

Nick had looked at me with such hatred.

“I hate you,” he’d screamed, his six-year-old face twisted with rage. “Katherine is right about you. You treat me like a sheep in a pen. You never let me have any fun. You’re the devil! I wish Katherine was my mom instead of you!”

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