I drafted a message to my lawyer, attaching every medical report the doctors had given me so far.

I detailed Rowan’s dehydration, his low oxygen levels, and the dangerous drop in temperature he had suffered.

I wanted the court to see exactly what Landon’s vacation had cost our son.

As I clicked send, a nurse walked into the room, holding a clipboard.

“Mrs. Bellamy?” she asked.

“Yes?” I said, looking up.

“There is a man outside the unit asking to see you,” she said, looking concerned.

“Who is it?” I asked, my heart skipping a beat.

“He says he’s a process server,” the nurse said. “He has legal documents for you.”

I stood up slowly, my stomach turning to ice.

“I’ll go with you,” Arthur said, stepping forward.

We walked out of the quiet NICU ward and into the waiting area.

A man in a plain grey suit stood near the reception desk, holding a thick manila envelope.

When he saw me, he stepped forward.

“Marissa Bellamy?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

He handed me the envelope. “You’ve been served.”