“Put him down!” I shouted.
She turned—and slapped me.
Hard.
My head slammed against the metal rail of the bed. For a second, the room spun, my ears ringing.
“You ungrateful little fool,” she hissed. “I am his grandmother. I decide what happens to him.”
That was it.
The last line.
With shaking hands, I slammed my palm onto the red button beside my bed.
CODE GRAY / SECURITY.
The alarm echoed through the hallway.
Margaret froze for half a second—then recovered instantly.
“Oh good,” she said, her tone suddenly shifting. “Let them come. They need to see how unstable you are.”
Within seconds, the door burst open.
Four security officers rushed in, led by Chief Daniel Ruiz.
“She’s dangerous!” Margaret cried immediately, clutching Noah. “My daughter-in-law just attacked me! She’s not mentally fit—she could hurt the baby!”
The officers hesitated.
I could see it.
The uncertainty.
A crying newborn. A composed, well-dressed older woman. A bleeding, disoriented patient in a hospital bed.
The wrong picture was forming.
