Chapter 8
The next day, at 4:30 p.m.
James left the office early for once, heading straight to the school to pick up Jasper.
At the school gate, Jasper came running out with his little backpack. He paused when he saw James, then trotted over and threw himself into his arms. "Dad! Why are you picking me up today?"
James scooped him up and settled him into the car seat, buckling the safety belt.
"Do you want Dad to pick you up?"
"Yeah!" Jasper nodded hard. He tilted his head, blinking up at him. "Where's Mom?"
James's hand paused on the belt.
This was the first time Jasper had asked about Isabella on his own.
"Mom..." James chose his words carefully. "Mom's staying with her parents for a bit."
Jasper looked down, fiddling with the charm on his backpack. He mumbled softly, "When's she coming back?"
James didn't answer.
The car started up and merged into traffic.
Jasper pressed his face to the window, watching the scenery roll by. Then he spoke again. "Dad, I want to eat Mom's beef stew."
James's grip tightened on the steering wheel.
"Ms. Johnson's food doesn't taste good." Jasper wrinkled his nose, his voice full of that childish stubbornness. "I want Mom's."
James glanced at him in the rearview mirror. He said nothing.
At six that evening, Charlotte called.
"James, has Jasper gotten out of school? I'm nearby—want me to take him out for a bite?"
James was in his study, sorting through files. He rubbed his temple.
"He just said he wants Isabella's beef stew."
There was a two-second pause on her end.
"Kids get cravings, that's all." Charlotte's voice bounced back to normal. "I'll take him somewhere fun. He'll forget about it in no time."
James thought it over and nodded. "Okay, you take him."
Half an hour later, Charlotte pulled up to Sinclair Villa in her white Chevy. She whisked Jasper away.
"Jasper, what do you feel like eating? I'll treat you."
Jasper's eyes lit up from the back seat. "Chicken nuggets! And fries! And ice cream!"
Charlotte ruffled his hair with a smile. "You got it. I'll get you all of it."
Meanwhile, James sat in his study. He couldn't focus on the files at all.
Memories kept flashing through his mind.
Isabella blocking Jasper from junk food, the boy stomping his feet in frustration.
Back then, James had thought she was overreacting. It was just snacks—what was the big deal?
Now, though, he realized she was only trying to keep the kid healthy.
James rubbed his temple again. He picked up his phone to text Charlotte, telling her not to let Jasper have too much junk.
But he set the phone down.
Forget it. Once wouldn't hurt.
At two in the morning, James jolted awake to urgent knocking.
"Mr. Sinclair! Mr. Sinclair! Jasper's burning up!"
James sat up in bed, threw on a robe, and rushed to Jasper's room.
He pushed open the door. The nanny was frantically wiping the boy's forehead.
Jasper lay there, cheeks flushed red, lips cracked and dry. He kept crying out, "Mommy, it hurts..."
James touched his forehead. It was scorching.
"To the hospital." He lifted Jasper into his arms and headed downstairs.
The ER was quiet in the early hours. Jasper got a fever-reducing shot and an IV. Tears still streaked his pale face.
James sat by the bed, staring at his son's exhausted little features. Something heavy settled in his chest.
Then his phone buzzed.
"James, what the hell? How'd the kid end up with a fever?"
"Dad, I—"
"When Isabella was around, Jasper never got sick. She's been gone what, a week? And you've already let him get like this?" Owen Sinclair's voice was ice-cold. "What kind of father are you?"
James clutched the phone. He couldn't get a word out.
"Your Charlotte's more trouble than she's worth. Keep her away from Jasper from now on!"
The call ended.
James slumped in the hard plastic chair, watching his sleeping son.
He pulled out his phone, scrolled to Isabella's number. He hesitated for ages, then hit call.
"Hello?" Her voice was even, no hint of feeling.
"Jasper's got a fever." James's throat felt rough. "102.2 degrees. He's at the hospital now."
Silence stretched for two seconds.
"So?" Isabella's tone stayed flat. "What are you calling to tell me, Mr. Sinclair?"
James froze.
He didn't even know why he'd dialed. To get her back? Or just to hear her voice?
"I..."
"James." She cut him off, a edge of sarcasm slipping in. "It's just a fever. Not life or death. You've got Charlotte, right? Let her handle it."
"She'd make a better mom for Jasper than I ever did, isn't that what you said?"
James's hand shook on the phone.
Those were his own words, thrown right back at him.
"Isabella—"
"Mr. Sinclair, I've got things to do." Her voice was calm, like this was someone else's problem. "Keep him hydrated, use cold compresses. You know the basics. Don't call me for this stuff anymore. Figure out what it's like to take care of a kid on your own."
"After all, you two were doing just fine without me, weren't you?"
She hung up.
James sat in the empty hallway, phone in hand, like a statue drained of life.
The next morning, Charlotte showed up at the hospital with an insulated container.
She hurried in, her face full of concern. She went straight to the bed. "How's Jasper? I was so worried when I heard. I made some porridge first thing and brought it over."
Jasper lay there, looking better than last night but still listless.
Charlotte opened the container and spooned some porridge toward his mouth. "Come on, Jasper, sweetie. Eat a little. It'll give you your strength back."
Jasper eyed the bowl and turned his head away. "No. I want Mom's porridge."
Charlotte's spoon hung in the air. Her eyes stung for a split second.
But she blinked it away, setting the bowl down. She stroked his head gently, her voice soft and understanding.
"Okay, okay, no porridge. I get it—you're sick and missing Mom, huh?"
She sighed lightly, full of empathy. "Jasper, honey, Mom's probably super busy out there. She didn't mean to leave you like this, especially not when you're this sick and she won't even come see you."
She paused, as if something just hit her. Her expression turned urgent. She leaned in closer.
"Oh, and Jasper—if you see stuff on your tablet about those news stories, don't believe them. All that junk saying your mom doesn't want you, that she's run off with some guy..."
"It's all lies. Your mom wouldn't do that to you. If she's not coming back, she's got her reasons, right?"