Day Three: Hospital
Isla learned quickly that babies didn't care about criminal empires.
Sera woke every two hours. Hungry. Demanding. Loud.
Between feedings, Isla tried to work. Laptop balanced on the hospital bed. Phone calls conducted while bouncing a fussy newborn.
"Mrs. Archer, the supplier is asking for—" Catherine's voice on speakerphone.
Sera started crying. Loud. Piercing. Impossible to ignore.
"Hold on." Isla shifted Sera to her shoulder. Patted. Bounced. "Sorry. She's—she's hungry. Again. Always hungry."
"Should I call back?"
"No. Just—give me a second." Isla tried nursing while listening to Catherine's report. Failed. Sera wanted full attention or nothing. "Actually, yes. Call back in an hour. I need to feed her."
After Catherine hung up, Isla looked at Sera. Tiny. Perfect. Completely oblivious to the fact that her mother was trying to run a criminal empire while producing milk.
"You're going to be the death of me," Isla murmured. "You know that?"
