Chapter 2 - THE THRESHOLD OF STORM AND TRUTH
The wail of the ambulance siren grew deafening before abruptly cutting out just outside our front door. Red and blue emergency lights flashed wildly through the sheer white curtains of my home office, painting frantic geometric patterns across the ceiling.
"Paramedics are here! They're coming through the door!" Iris shouted, dropping the phone onto the rug as heavy boots stomped into the entryway.
Through the foggy veil of unconsciousness, I felt warm hands—strong, practiced, and clinical—touching my neck, checking my pulse, lifting my eyelids.
"She's hypertensive. Systolic is through the roof. Likely a burst aneurysm or a severe hemorrhagic stroke," a male paramedic’s voice barked. "Get the stretcher ready. Let's move, now!"
They lifted me. The sudden motion sent another wave of blinding agony through my skull, and I slipped back under, sinking into a deep, dark abyss.
Before the paramedics could wheel me out the front door, the screech of tires tearing into our gravel driveway announced another arrival. A sleek black luxury sedan slid sideways to a halt, spraying gravel against the siding of the house.
The driver’s door flew open.
Griffin didn't wait for an umbrella. The freezing Seattle rain hammered down onto his dark hair, soaking his expensive custom suit instantly. He didn't care. He vaulted up the front porch steps, pushing past the open door just as the paramedics were rolling my stretcher toward the exit.
"Dad?"
Hazel and Iris froze in the middle of the hallway, clutching each other's hands.
Griffin stopped dead in his tracks.
He looked like a man who had been struck by lightning. Water dripped from his jawline, his chest heaving as he stared down at the two little girls standing before him.
They had his sharp, aristocratic jawline. They had his high cheekbones. And most unmistakably of all, they had those rare, piercing amber-flecked hazel eyes that looked back at him from the mirror every single morning.
For a terrifying, beautiful second, Griffin didn't look at the paramedics wheeling me away. He looked only at his daughters.
"Sir, you need to step back, we're transporting to Seattle Grace," the lead paramedic said, attempting to maneuver past him.
Griffin didn't move an inch. He raised one hand, his gaze locked entirely on Hazel and Iris. His voice, when it came out, was barely a whisper, thick with unspooled emotion.
"Go with Mrs. Peterson next door," Griffin told the girls, his eyes never leaving them. He crouched down so he was eye-level with them, the rain still soaking through his shoulders. "I am going with your mom. I will not leave her. Do you understand me?"
Iris sniffled, wiping a tear away. "Are you... are you really our daddy?"
Griffin reached out, his large, trembling hand gently cupping Iris’s cheek. His thumb brushed away a tear.
"Yes," he choked out, a fresh tear mingling with the rain on his face. "Yes, I am. And I am so, so sorry I wasn't here before."
May you like
He stood up, turned, and followed the stretcher out into the storm, climbing directly into the back of the ambulance beside me, refusing to let go of my limp, cold hand as the vehicle sped off into the
night.
