Chapter 4 - The Sentinel of the Night
By midnight, the storm outside the hospital had turned into a steady, rhythmic downpour that blurred the bright neon signs of the city.
In the luxurious, quiet warmth of the penthouse suite at Chicago Memorial, Mary lay beneath a soft white duvet, her breathing monitored by a state-of-the-art neurological display. Beside the bed, a massive, plush leather armchair had been brought in.
Lauren was fast asleep in Andrew’s lap, her tiny head resting against his shoulder, her fabric bag safely tucked between them. Andrew’s arms were wrapped around her securely, his large hand gently stroking her back.
He hadn't closed his eyes all night. His laptop sat dark on the side table, his phone powered down entirely. For the first time in twenty years, the stock market didn't exist. Mergers didn't matter. The boardroom could burn to the ground.
He looked at Mary's peaceful, bandaged face. The memory of the night he left came rushing back with a savage intensity. He had been so hungry for success, so terrified of ending up like his father, that he had viewed her love as a distraction. He had told himself he would make his first million and then come back for her. But the first million turned into ten, then a hundred, then a billion, until the gold had formed a wall so thick he forgot what it felt like to be warm.
Suddenly, Lauren stirred in his arms, her long lashes fluttering open as she looked up at him in the dim, green light of the monitors.
“Daddy?” she whispered, using the word tentatively, as if testing the weight of it in her mouth.
Andrew’s heart skipped a beat, a profound, aching warmth blooming in his chest. “I’m here, sweetie. I’m right here.”
“Will Mommy wake up when the sun comes out?” Lauren asked, her tiny hand reaching up to touch his chin.
Andrew closed his eyes, a single, hot tear escaping and tracing a path down his severe face. “I don't know, Lauren. But I promise you this: whatever happens, I am never leaving you again. We are going to stay right here until she hears us.”
Lauren gave a small, content sigh, snuggling deeper into his chest. “I know. The star song always works.”
Andrew froze. “The star song?”
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“Mommy sings it to me when the wind is loud,” Lauren murmured, her voice growing heavy with sleep. “She said you sang it to her under the lamp post. Little star, bright star, stay where you are...”
Andrew choked back a sob, his fingers tightening around her. It was the old Indiana lullaby his grandmother had taught him—the one he had sung to Mary on the night he promised to return. She had kept it. She had passed it down like an inheritance.
