Part 2 — The Call
Nathan was calling.
For a few seconds, I just stared at his name glowing on the screen.
Oliver was lying beside me, wrapped in heated blankets, his eyes half-closed from exhaustion.
I answered.
“What happened to my son?”
There was silence.
Then Nathan said, “Why did you take him to the hospital?”
I almost couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“Because he came home with blue lips and a body temperature of ninety-four degrees.”
“He’s fine,” Nathan said quickly. “He was just cold.”
The doctor was standing only a few feet away.
She heard him.
Her expression changed.
I lowered my voice.
“He was outside for two hours.”
Nathan sighed.
“It wasn’t two hours.”
Oliver suddenly opened his eyes.
“Yes, it was.”
Nathan heard him.
“Oliver, stop exaggerating.”
My blood ran cold.
My six-year-old had just been through hypothermia, and his father was already teaching him that the truth was an exaggeration.
I stood up.
“Where were you?”
“At dinner.”
“With our son outside?”
“He was being difficult.”
I looked at Oliver.
He was staring at the ceiling, tears silently running down his cheeks.
Nathan continued.
“He refused to behave, so we told him to wait outside until he calmed down.”
I felt something inside me break.
“You left a six-year-old child outside in five-degree weather because he was misbehaving?”
“He wasn’t supposed to be out there that long.”
“Then why didn’t anyone bring him inside?”
Silence.
That silence told me everything.
I hung up.
And for the first time that night, I wasn’t scared.
I was furious.
Part 3 — The Truth
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