"I have medical power of attorney." I don't, but they don't know that. "Do whatever you need to do. Save her."
The doctor nods and disappears behind the curtain.
I collapse into a plastic chair, hands shaking, and dial Sergei.
"What's wrong?"
"We're at Mount Sinai. She was vomiting blood. They're running tests now." My voice cracks. "Sergei, something's really wrong."
"I'm leaving now. Two hours." I hear his car starting, the roar of the engine. "Stay with her. Don't let anyone make decisions without calling me first."
"I won't."
"Izzy." His voice drops, rough and raw. "Thank you. For being there. For—" He stops. "Just thank you."
The line goes dead, and I'm alone in the ER waiting room, with fluorescent lights and the smell of antiseptic and fear clawing up my throat.
Forty minutes crawl past. The doctors run blood tests, an ultrasound, ask questions about what she ate, where she's been, whether she could have ingested something toxic.
Toxic.
The word makes my skin prickle. Matthew's been trying to kill me for weeks. Would he go after Mila to send a message? Would he poison a child just to prove he could reach us anywhere?
I want to say no. Want to believe even monsters have limits.
But I've learned better lately.
"Mrs. Orlov?" A nurse appears. "Mila's stable. Asking for you."
I'm moving before she finishes the sentence, through the double doors to the room where Mila's hooked up to monitors, looking small and scared in the hospital bed. Her eyes find mine and fill with tears.
"Hey, sweetheart." I take her hand, smoothing hair back from her face. "You're okay. The doctors are taking good care of you."
"Where's Papa?"
"On his way. He'll be here soon." I squeeze her fingers gently. "How do you feel?"
"Tired. It doesn't hurt as much now."
Thank God.
The curtain rips open and Elena storms in, all fury and expensive perfume. She doesn't look at Mila first. She looks at me. Eyes narrowed, mouth twisted, like I'm the one who put her daughter in this hospital bed.
"What did you do to her?"
I stand, putting myself between Elena and the bed. "I got her to the hospital. Probably saved her life."
"Saved her life." Elena laughs, the sound sharp and ugly. "She was fine until she started staying with you. Now she's in the ER and you want credit?"
"She was at school all day. Whatever made her sick happened before she got to our house."
"Our house." She spits the words like poison. "You've been playing house for a few weeks, and you think you have any right to call it yours? To call her yours?"
Behind me, Mila makes a small sound. Fear. Confusion. The sound of a child watching adults fight over her like she's property instead of a person.
But Elena doesn't notice. Or doesn't care.
"I have the right because I was there." I keep my voice low, controlled, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a scene. "When she was sick. When she was scared. When she needed someone."
