Sedatives
Christian sat alone in his office, door closed, blinds half-drawn against the pale winter light. The phone rested on his desk like a live wire. He had stared at Melody’s contact for nearly ten minutes before finally pressing call.
It rang twice.
She answered on the third ring.
Her voice was quiet, guarded, already braced.
“Christian.”
He exhaled through his nose, fingers drumming once on the desk.
“I'm taking Symphony to the hospital for her checkup today.
They want to monitor her. Come. 2 p.m. sharp.
Pediatric wing, room 412. Given it's your third visit with her today, we might as well just get over with it at the hospital.”
A long silence on her end.
Then, softly:
“I’ll be there.”
He waited for more... anger, questions, anything, but she didn’t speak.
His jaw tightened.
“That’s it? No argument? No accusations?”
Melody’s voice came back flat, edged with exhaustion.
“What’s there to argue about? You call, I come. That’s the arrangement you made. I show up for her. That’s all.”
Christian leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.
“You sound like you hate me.”
A bitter laugh from her end. “I don’t hate you, Christian. I hate what you’ve done to me. But hate takes energy I don’t have anymore.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “You think I enjoy this? Watching her cry for you? Watching her get sick every time you leave?”
“Then why do you keep doing it?” Her voice cracked for the first time. “Why did you fire me from the coffee shop? Why did you make sure I couldn’t even afford to eat, let alone fight for her?”
Christian’s breath caught. “I didn’t fire you.”
Silence.
Melody’s tone turned razor-sharp.
“Don’t lie to me. Carla told me. Someone called. Gave them my history. Told them I was dangerous. Unstable. That was you.”
“It wasn’t,” he said quietly. “I didn’t make that call.”
Another long pause.
“Then who?” she whispered. “Victoria? Ashley? One of your minions?”
Christian’s fingers curled into a fist.
“I don’t know. But it wasn’t me.”
Melody laughed again, cold and broken.
“Right. Of course not. You’re just the man who divorced me, took my daughter. You’re innocent. Always innocent.”
His voice dropped dangerously low.
“Watch your mouth.”
“Or what?” she shot back. “You’ll threaten prison again? You’ll take the last thing I have left? You already did that. There’s nothing more you can do to me.”
Christian’s hand tightened around the phone.
“I’m not the enemy here.”
“You are,” she said simply. “You chose to be.”
Silence stretched between them, thick, bitter, suffocating.
Finally, he spoke again, quieter.
“Just… come to the hospital. See her. That’s all I’m asking.”
Melody exhaled shakily.
“I’ll be there. For her. Not for you.”
She hung up.
Christian stared at the dark screen for a long moment.
Then he set the phone down gently and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.
He didn’t know who to believe anymore.
He didn’t know what was true.
But he knew one thing:
Symphony needed her mother.
And he was starting to wonder if keeping them apart was killing them both.
×××××××
The exam room was small and sterile... white walls, a padded table with crinkly paper, a scale in the corner, posters of smiling cartoon animals on the walls.
Melody sat on the chair beside the table, Symphony in her lap, the plush lamb tucked under the baby’s arm.
Christian stood near the window, arms crossed, staring out at the parking lot below like he could escape through the glass.
For once, it felt almost normal.
Two parents.
One sick baby.
A routine checkup.
The nurse came in, a young woman with gentle hands and a clipboard.
She smiled at Symphony.
“Hi, little one. We just need a quick blood draw for the labs, okay?”
She reached for Symphony’s tiny arm.
The baby fussed immediately, small whimper turning to sharp cry as the needle pricked her skin.
Christian’s head snapped around.
“Be careful,” he barked, stepping forward. “She’s only four months old. You’re hurting her.”
The nurse flinched but kept her voice calm.
“I’m being as gentle as I can, Mr. Holt. It’s just a quick stick. Almost done.”
Symphony’s cries rose, high and heartbroken.
Melody rocked her instinctively, murmuring, “Shhh, baby, it’s okay. Mama’s here. It’s just a little pinch. You’re so brave.”
Christian hovered, fists clenched at his sides.
“Slow down. She’s crying.”
A while later: “Who hired you? Don't you know how to handle a child?”
Then, “She's a baby, not an adult, be gentle.”
Symphony kept wailing and it boiled his blood.
“Oh my God, slow down.”
“Sir, can you please let me do my job?” the nurse said.
Christian exhaled and backed off.
The nurse finished quickly, pressed a cotton ball to the site, and taped it.
“All done. She did great.”
She left with the vials, door clicking shut behind her.
Silence fell.
Symphony quieted in Melody’s arms, sniffling, then reached for the plush lamb. She brought the floppy ear to her mouth, chewing softly, the tiny silver bell jingling with each movement.
Melody kissed the top of her head.
“Good girl. You did so good.”
Christian stood rigid for a moment longer, then slowly sat in the chair opposite them.
His eyes stayed on Symphony, on the way she clung to the lamb, on the way she nuzzled closer to Melody’s chest.
Melody didn’t look at him.
She kept her attention on the baby, stroking her curls.
After a long beat, she spoke... voice quiet, laced with sarcasm.
“Why didn’t you bring your fiancée today? This seems like the perfect family outing.”
Christian’s jaw ticked.“She was busy.”
Melody’s laugh was small, bitter.“Right. Busy. Of course.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Melody finally met his eyes.“It means you’re marrying her. You chose her. You put a ring on her finger weeks after throwing me out. And yet here you are, alone with me and our daughter. No fiancée in sight. Funny how that works.”
Christian’s gaze darkened. “I’m here for Symphony. Not for you.”
Melody’s hold on the baby tightened slightly.
“Then why do you keep calling me? Why do you keep letting me see her? If I’m so dangerous, so poisonous, why am I the only one who can calm her down?”
“Because she’s fond of you,” he said through gritted teeth. “Because you’re her mother. That’s it.”
Melody’s eyes filled.“Then let me be her mother. Really. Not just for an hour in a hospital room. Not just when she’s sick and no one else can help. Let me be there every day.”
Christian looked away.“I can’t.”
“Why?” Her voice cracked. “Because Ashley doesn’t want me around? Because Victoria says I’m a killer? Because you still believe I drove Ashton to his death?”
He snapped his head back to her.“You did.”
Melody’s breath hitched.“I didn’t. I told you, he didn’t love me. He wanted to own me. He harassed me. He threatened me. He watched me in my own home. And you never believed me. You never even asked.”
Christian’s hands clenched on his knees.“I knew him. He wasn’t like that.”
Melody’s tears fell now, quiet and steady.
“You knew what he showed you. You didn’t want to see the rest.”
Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
Symphony cooed softly, chewing on the lamb’s ear, oblivious to the storm around her.
Melody looked down at her daughter, brushing a curl from her forehead.
“She deserves better than this,” she whispered. “She deserves both of us. Not a father who hates her mother. Not a mother who shows up only twice a month.”
Christian flinched.
Melody lifted her eyes to his again... raw, exhausted, heartbroken.
“You can hate me all you want,” she said quietly. “But don’t hate her enough to keep us apart.”
Christian stared at her for a long moment.
Then he looked away.
He didn’t answer.
He just sat there, watching Melody hold their daughter, watching Symphony chew happily on the lamb, watching the quiet love between them that he had tried so hard to destroy.
And for the first time, he didn’t have a cold reply ready.
He just sat in silence.
And let the truth settle between them like dust after a storm.
×××××××
The exam room smelled faintly of antiseptic and the sweet plastic scent of exam gloves.
Melody sat on the padded table with Symphony in her lap, the baby’s small body still warm from the lingering fever.
The plush lamb was tucked against her chest, one floppy ear in her tiny fist. Christian stood near the door, arms crossed, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on his daughter.
Dr. Whitaker, a woman in her mid-forties with calm brown eyes and a gentle voice, sat at the small desk reviewing the latest blood panel on her tablet. She set it down slowly and looked at both parents, expression serious but kind.
“Symphony’s vomiting, restlessness, stomach pain, and recurring low-grade fevers aren’t from a virus,” she said quietly. “The blood work shows traces of benzodiazepine metabolites. Sedatives. Likely lorazepam or a similar short-acting benzo. In a four-month-old.”
Melody’s arms tightened around her daughter.
Her breath stopped.
Christian’s face drained of color.
He took one step forward, voice low and rough. “What?”
Dr. Whitaker continued, tone steady but laced with quiet disapproval.
“This isn’t accidental ingestion. It’s been administered repeatedly... small doses over days or weeks. The withdrawal between doses explains the fussiness and poor feeding when she doesn’t get it. The fever and vomiting are her body reacting. She’s far too young for this. It’s dangerous.”
Melody’s eyes filled instantly.
She looked down at Symphony, and whispered, voice cracking,
“Who… who would do that to her?”
The doctor’s gaze shifted between them.
“I’m asking you the same question. She’s your child. Sedatives don’t appear in breast milk or formula by accident.”
Christian’s hands clenched at his sides.
“No one’s given her anything,” he said, almost to himself. “We’ve been careful. Sally, she’s been with her since birth. She wouldn’t—”
Dr. Whitaker raised an eyebrow slightly. “Then someone else has access. Someone who thought it would ‘help her sleep.’ Or calm her. Or make her easier to manage.”
Melody’s tears fell silently onto Symphony’s curls.
She rocked her daughter gently, as if the motion could undo the words still hanging in the air.
“I’d never hurt her,” she whispered. “Never.”
Christian’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Whoever did this… they’re going to answer for it.”
The doctor nodded once, expression grave.
“I’m prescribing anti-nausea medication, a mild antacid for her stomach, and probiotics to help her gut recover.
I’ve also written an order for follow-up blood work in three days to ensure the metabolites are clearing.
No more sedatives. None. If I see them again, I’m required to report this to Child Protective Services. ”
She slid the prescription printout across the desk.
Christian took it without looking.
His eyes stayed on Symphony, on the way she nuzzled closer to Melody’s chest, small hand still clutching the lamb’s ear.
Dr. Whitaker watched them for a moment, two parents, once enemies, now united in horror and guilt.
“Take her home,” she said gently. “Keep her hydrated. Watch for any worsening symptoms. And figure out who’s been doing this. Because someone has.”
Christian stood first.
He reached for Symphony and Melody let him take her, though her arms lingered a second longer than necessary.
Their eyes met over the baby’s head.
No words.
Just shared fury.
Christian tucked Symphony against his shoulder, her small face nuzzling into his neck.
Melody gathered her coat and the plush lamb.
They left the exam room together.
But the silence between them was different now.
×××××××