Chapter 4 - Pamela’s Golden JubileeForty-eight hours earlier, the Grand Plaza Hotel ballroom had been glittering under a cascade of crystal chandeliers.
Pamela Vance stood at the center of the room, draped in an expensive emerald-green gown that cost more than Sienna’s entire maternity wardrobe, accepting praise from her gaggle of sycophantic friends.
"Oh, Pamela, darling! Sixty-five? You look forty!" one woman cooed, air-kissing Pamela’s cheeks.
"It’s all about peace of mind, darling," Pamela trilled, taking a sip of champagne. "And keeping toxic, dramatic people out of your life. Speaking of which... where is Cameron? Wasn't he supposed to bring that little leech of a wife of his?"
Just then, Cameron hurried through the grand double doors of the ballroom, his face flushed from running in from the parking garage. He spotted his mother and forced a bright, eager smile onto his face, walking over to join the circle.
"Ah, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence!" Pamela beamed, holding out her cheek for a kiss. "I was beginning to think your wife had thrown another one of her little hysterics to keep you away from me."
Cameron kissed her cheek, feeling a brief pang of residual guilt, but quickly brushed it aside. "Oh, you know Sienna. Everything is a major production with her. She was complaining about some stomach cramps, but I told her to suck it up. She just wanted attention."
Pamela’s face lit up with vindication. "I told you! Women like her use pregnancy like a weapon to trap men and control their schedules. You did the right thing, sweetie. A mother only turns sixty-five once. Some needy girl having a tummy ache can wait."
"Exactly," Cameron nodded, accepting a flute of champagne from a passing waiter.
Throughout the evening, his phone vibrated in his pocket multiple times. He felt it buzz against his thigh—once, twice, three times, four times, five times. Each vibration was a faint, annoying itch. He ignored them all, slipping his phone deeper into his pocket so he wouldn't even feel the notifications.
He didn't want anything ruining his mother’s special night. He wanted to be the dutiful son, the favorite child, the man who put his mother above all else.
At around 9:00 PM, he stood at the podium to deliver his mother’s birthday toast.
"To my mother, Pamela," Cameron spoke into the microphone, smiling brightly as the room fell quiet. "The strongest, most elegant, most devoted woman I know. You taught me what true dedication looks like. You taught me how to put family first, no matter what distractions come our way. I love you, Mom. Happy birthday."
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The room erupted into applause. Pamela dabbed a theatrical tear from her eye, blowing him a kiss.
Neither of them knew that roughly three miles away, in a sterile operating room under harsh white lights, a medical team was frantically trying to restart the tiny heart of a newborn baby boy who had just suffocated in the dark.
