Hunter's World Crumbles at Party

The sound of screeching tires pierced the afternoon quiet. I froze on our apartment steps, my hand still clutching the door handle as I watched in horror.

"Luna!" I screamed, my voice shattering the Manhattan sidewalk's usual hum of businesslike anonymity.

My six-year-old daughter had been crossing the street just outside our building, her small figure weaving between parked cars with the carelessness of childhood. Now she lay crumpled on the asphalt, a growing crimson stain spreading across her favorite pink dress—the one with butterflies she'd insisted on wearing today.

A sleek red convertible swerved wildly before speeding away, its driver never looking back. I caught a glimpse of perfectly manicured hands gripping the steering wheel, a flash of blonde hair.

Valery.

"Hunter's girlfriend," whispered Mrs. Rodriguez, our elderly neighbor who'd been watering her potted plants. "I saw her hitting that poor child."

I couldn't process her words. My world had narrowed to Luna's broken body, to the terrifying stillness of her small form.

"Someone call an ambulance!" I shouted, already running toward my daughter.

---

"Mrs. Woods?" Dr. Elena Rodriguez's face was grave as she approached me in the sterile hallway of Manhattan General Hospital. "We need to discuss your daughter's condition."

I gripped the clipboard she handed me, my hands trembling so badly I could barely read the forms.

"Luna needs a blood transfusion immediately," she explained, her voice gentle but urgent. "She's lost too much blood, and there's internal bleeding we need to address."

"Then do it," I said desperately. "Whatever she needs."

Dr. Rodriguez's expression tightened. "There's a complication. Luna has a rare blood type—AB negative with a specific antigen profile. Our blood bank doesn't currently have a match."

My heart stuttered. "But we do. We have our own blood bank for emergencies. Hunter set it up after Luna was born."

"Yes, I've reviewed your family's medical records. The private blood bank at Midtown Medical does have the exact match Luna needs." She hesitated. "But we need Mr. Woods' authorization to access it."

I pulled out my phone, fingers fumbling as I dialed Hunter's number. Each ring felt like an eternity.

"Gwen." His voice was clipped, distracted. I could hear traffic in the background.

"Hunter, Luna's been hurt. She needs blood—our blood bank at Midtown. Please, you need to authorize—"

"Not now, Gwen." His voice cut through mine like ice. "I'm dealing with a real emergency."

"What could possibly be more important than our daughter?" My voice cracked, desperation clawing at my throat.

"Valery's having complications with the pregnancy. She's bleeding. I'm at her apartment now."

The world tilted beneath my feet. "Hunter, Luna was hit by a car. She's dying."

"Then handle it," he snapped. "I've got my hands full here."

I heard a woman's voice in the background—Valery's voice—calling out dramatically: "Hunter! It's getting worse! I think I'm losing the baby!"

"I have to go," Hunter said coldly. "Call me when the crisis is over."

The line went dead.

I stared at my phone in disbelief, then turned to Dr. Rodriguez with wild eyes. "He won't—he's not coming."

---

"Luna Woods, six years old, critical condition." Dr. Rodriguez's voice echoed through the operating room as nurses rushed around us. "We're prepping for emergency surgery, but we need that blood now."

I stood in the observation area, watching my daughter's tiny body connected to machines that beeped too slowly. Her face was so pale it seemed translucent.

"Mrs. Woods, I need to be honest with you." Dr. Rodriguez's eyes met mine through her surgical mask. "Without the transfusion, Luna's chances are very slim."

"Please," I whispered, pressing my palm against the glass separating me from my child. "Try again. Call Hunter again."

She nodded grimly and stepped away to make another call.

Through the window, I watched Luna's chest rise and fall with mechanical assistance. Her dark hair—so like mine—was matted with blood. Her favorite stuffed rabbit, the one she'd insisted on bringing to the hospital, sat forgotten on a chair nearby.

My phone buzzed. Hunter's name flashed on the screen.

"He's coming," I thought desperately. "Finally, he's coming."

I answered with shaking hands. "Hunter?"

"Gwen." His voice was strained but not with concern for Luna. "Valery's fine. It was a false alarm."

Relief flooded through me—not for Valery, but for Luna. Now he could come. Now he would save our daughter.

"Thank God," I said. "Hunter, please—Luna needs you. The doctors need your authorization for—"

"Valery needs me more right now," he interrupted. "She's terrified about losing the baby. I can't leave her."

A nurse burst into the observation room, her face ashen. "Mrs. Woods? Dr. Rodriguez needs to speak with you immediately."

I turned away from the phone, following her with leaden feet.

Inside the operating room, chaos reigned. Alarms blared. Doctors shouted commands.

"Code blue! Code blue! Pediatric patient, six years old!"

I watched in slow motion as they surrounded Luna's small form, blocking my view.

"Clear!"

No response.

"Clear again!"

Still nothing.

Dr. Rodriguez looked up at me, her eyes filled with a terrible finality. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Woods. We did everything we could."

The world stopped spinning.