Her Mother Demanded She Abandon Her Sick Child for a Party — Until the "Poor" Husband Picked Up the Phone

Patrick glanced up from the medical monitor, his expression tightening. “Don’t answer it, Clara.”

“Maybe she’s calling to check on Leo,” I whispered desperately.

Patrick remained silent, turning his attention back to our son. I still desperately needed to believe she cared. I needed to believe that underneath the pearls and the country club memberships, my mother had a beating heart.

I picked up the phone.

“Mom, the doctors just changed his IV antibiotics,” I rushed out, my voice thick with unshed tears. “His fever spiked again, and they’re waiting on lab results to rule out a severe—”

“Where are you?”

Her voice didn't sound worried. It didn't sound comforting. It sounded furious.

“At the hospital,” I replied, confused.

“I know you’re at the hospital, Clara. I’m asking why you haven’t arrived at the St. Regis yet.”

I blinked. Through the phone receiver, I could suddenly hear upbeat jazz music, the clinking of expensive crystal champagne flutes, and the ambient roar of a crowded luxury ballroom.

Then it hit me. Bianca’s 18th birthday gala.

My mother had spent six months planning the event. She had booked a grand ballroom overlooking the ocean, hired a live band, professional photographers, and a full corporate event coordination team. Nearly fifty high-society relatives and prominent politicians had been invited.

“Mom, Leo is in the pediatric ICU,” I said, the horrific reality of her priority setting in.

“Clara, don’t start with your drama.”

I looked at my son. His breathing was growing agonizingly shallow and rapid again. “The doctor said if his oxygen levels drop any further, they might have to intubate him!”