Mrs. Sterling let out a dry laugh. It was a harsh, ugly sound. She tossed her designer handbag onto the plush sofa, right on top of a stack of legal documents I’d been reviewing before the labor started.
“Are you sure?” she spat scornfully. “What insurance? Unemployment insurance? Don’t make me laugh, darling. A freeloader like you doesn’t get premium coverage. You barely contribute a penny to the household. You sit at home all day ‘advising’ on your laptop while Mark pays the mortgage, the bills, and now this monstrous hospital bill.”
“It’s fully covered,” I repeated, my voice strained. “You don’t need to worry about the cost.”
“I worry about everything!” she snapped. “Because it’s clear you have no concept of value. You think money grows on trees just because you married a lawyer. But let me tell you something, Elena. Mark’s patience is running out. And so is mine.”
Finally, he turned to look at the cribs. He didn’t coo. He didn’t smile. He observed them with a calculating, cold expression, like a butcher evaluating a cut of meat.
“Anyway,” she said, waving a manicured hand dismissively. “We’ll talk about your spending habits later. I’m here for something more important. The twins. You’re not planning on keeping both of them, are you?”
Chapter 2: The adoption papers
The air in the room seemed to disappear. I stared at her, thinking the painkillers were making me hallucinate.
“Excuse me?” I whispered.
Mrs. Sterling opened her bag and took out a thick, folded document. She slammed it on the nightstand, right next to my water pitcher.
“Sign here,” she said, tapping the paper with a long, red fingernail. “It’s a Parental Rights Waiver form. I asked my neighbor to write it up; he’s a notary, so it’s official.”
I looked at the paper. It was badly formatted, full of mistakes, and legally, a joke. But the intention was terrifyingly clear.
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