“But this is a great verdict. O’Mara is over the moon. What’s her share of the award? Eighteen million? Oh, Yuki.”

Yuki tried to cover her swelling emotions by coughing, but her eyes swam with tears. Then her small chest was heaving, and she was having a full-scale public meltdown.

“I’m not like this,” she said as she wept. “This isn’t me.”

Chapter 112

Chapter 112

JAMIE SWEET WAS CRYING his little eyes out, and his undulating sobs were wrenching the hearts of his parents, Melissa and Martin Sweet. They hovered over their small child’s bed, doting on Jamie for the few remaining minutes before visiting hours were over for the night.

“I don’t want to stay here. Please, please, no,” five-year-old Jamie wailed. His chin was scraped, his front tooth was chipped, and his lower lip was split and swollen.

And then there was the fractured arm.

“Why can’t I go home? I want to go home. I have to.”

“Baby. Baby boy,” Melissa said, sweeping him up from his pillow, hugging him to her chest.

“Jamie,” his father said, “the doctors want to keep you here overnight so they can give you medicine for the pain. Tomorrow morning, we’ll be here first thing to pick you up. First thing, we promise. Look what Mommy and I got for you.”

Melissa brushed the tears from her face with the sides of her hands and held up a colorful shopping bag. She jounced it up and down. Something heavy was inside.

“Want to see?”

Jamie’s sobs receded as his mom unwrapped the gift from the creases of tissue paper, revealing a stuffed toy monkey wearing polka-dotted pants and a striped shirt.

“His name is Hooter,” said Melissa.

“Hooter?”

“He’s a hooter monkey. Just press on his tummy,” Melissa told Jamie.

The boy’s curiosity immediately took over. He stretched out his left hand, the gleaming plastic cast on his right arm looking even bigger and more monstrous by comparison.

He took the toy monkey, pressed on its belly. “Hooo-hoo-hoo,” Hooter said in a goofy voice. “Have you hugged your monkey today?”

The little boy smiled, his eyes and mouth starting to droop as the painkiller took hold. A nurse appeared in the doorway.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice honeyed with a West Indian lilt. “All the visitors must be leaving now.”

“Nooo,” Jamie cried. “They can’t leave.”

“Jamie, please. Everything’s going to be okay. Just get a good night’s sleep. There’s the big boy I know,” his father said. “You’re the best boy in the whole world.”

Martin thought his chest was going to blow apart, that’s how excruciating it was to leave his son alone. His precious, precious Jamie.