Chapter 3 - THE WAKE-UP CALL
Forty-eight hours.
For forty-eight hours, the sterile, rhythmic beep of the ICU monitor was the only sound in my private hospital room.
When my eyes finally fluttered open, the harsh fluorescent lights felt like needles. My throat felt like sandpaper, and my head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache.
I turned my head slightly on the pillow.
Sitting in the uncomfortable plastic armchair beside the bed, still wearing the wrinkled, rain-soaked suit from two nights ago, was Griffin. His chin was covered in dark stubble, his eyes bloodshot and hollow, his fingers interlocked tightly with my right hand.
He hadn't left.
"Sloan," he whispered instantly, his head snapping up at the slightest movement of my fingers. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the back of my hand. "Oh, thank God. Sloan, can you hear me?"
My voice came out as a dry, rasping croak. "Griffin..."
"Don't talk. Don't try to speak. I'll get the doctor," he stammered, hitting the nurse's call button with his free hand before leaning back in. "You had a ruptured cerebral aneurysm. They performed emergency endovascular surgery. You’ve been asleep for two days."
I stared at him, the memories of the night before crashing back into my mind like a tidal wave. The blueprints. The pain. The phone call.
"The... the girls," I whispered, panic flaring in my chest. "Where are they, Griffin? Did they see..."
"They're safe," Griffin interrupted gently, his thumb stroking my knuckles. "They're with Mrs. Peterson right now, but I brought them to the hospital waiting room earlier this morning with a team of pediatric nurses looking after them. They know everything, Sloan."
My breath hitched. "Griffin, I can explain—"
"Explain what?" His voice wasn't angry. That was what terrified me more than anything. It was broken. "Explain why you packed your bags ten years ago, vanished without a trace, and raised my daughters in secret while I spent a decade wondering what the hell I did wrong?"
Tears spilled over my lashes, hot and bitter. "You were building Drake Tech. You had investors breathing down your neck, your whole life mapped out in Silicon Valley. I was just an anchor holding you back. I didn't want to ruin your future."
Griffin stood up slowly from the chair. He leaned over the bed, placing both hands on either side of my pillow, trapping me in his gaze. His eyes—the exact same eyes our daughters had inherited—were swimming with unshed tears.
"Ruin my future?" he asked, his voice shaking with intense emotion. "Sloan, you were my future. Everything I built, every dollar I made, every sleepless night in that garage—I did it thinking I was building a life for us. And you took away the only thing that ever mattered."
May you like
Before I could answer, the door to the hospital room clicked open.
Mrs. Peterson stepped inside, holding the hands of two very small, very quiet girls.
