Ever since the two girls were born, Wilfred had treated them like precious treasures, afraid they might melt if he so much as breathed on them. Everything related to the children—medicine, supplies, schedules—he kept under his personal care. No one else was allowed to touch any of it.
Not even the housekeeper.
"Fine, I'll call him."
Hildegarde pulled out her phone and dialed Wilfred's number.
The number you have dialed is no longer in service.
"How dare he!"
"Wilfred, you bastard! You actually blocked my number!"
Rage flickered in Hildegarde's bright eyes.
There was no mistake—she'd been blocked. Otherwise, it wouldn't have given that message.
"That bastard. Does he think I can't take care of Hilary without him?"
"Go find it! Search everywhere! I refuse to believe he hid the allergy medicine in the sky."
Marjorie rushed to the adjoining room and began tearing through drawers and cabinets.
Nothing.
Hilary's condition was getting worse by the minute. Left with no choice, Hildegarde had Marjorie carry the child to the car and drove through the night to Children's Hospital.
After a round of emergency treatment, Hilary's allergic reaction was finally under control.