Chapter 8 - The Birth and The Boundary
In early December, Clara went into labor.
It was a tough delivery, but she was a warrior. After fourteen hours, I held my beautiful daughter, Maya, in my arms. She had Clara’s nose and a full head of dark hair. Looking at her, crying in my arms, I felt a fierce, primal protectiveness wash over me. No one would ever throw ice water on her. No one would ever make her feel small.
Somehow, my family found out. Perhaps through social media or a mutual acquaintance.
The next morning, while Clara was resting and I was rocking Maya, a nurse walked into the room, looking deeply uncomfortable.
"Mr. Sterling, there is a... family in the lobby. A man, a woman, and a younger woman. They claim to be the baby's grandparents and aunt. They have a photographer with them?"
I felt my jaw clench. They wanted a PR photo-op. They wanted to post pictures with the new baby on Facebook to prove to their dwindling social circle that we were "reconciled" and that the money would soon be flowing again.
"They are not welcome here," I said coldly. "Please alert hospital security. If they try to bypass the front desk, call the police."
"Understood," the nurse nodded, looking relieved.
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I later learned my mother had thrown a tantrum in the maternity ward lobby, weeping loudly for the cameras, claiming she was being kept from her first grandchild. Security didn't care. They were physically escorted out of a building for the second time in three months.
I looked down at Maya. You are safe, I promised her silently. The monsters are gone.
