Chapter 3 - The Warmth of a Hearth
In the sterile, brightly lit examination room of St. Jude’s, Hannah looked like a sparrow caught in a hurricane. Nurses bustled around her, coaxing her into a soft, warm hospital gown, washing the soot from her face, and feeding her warm broth.
Dr. Vance, a brilliant pediatrician with silver temples and kind eyes, walked out into the private corridor where Owen was sitting on a leather bench, pressing a hand against his ribs where the dull ache had settled into a persistent throb.
“She is malnourished, Mr. Faulkner,” Dr. Vance said, adjusting his glasses. “She’s five years old, but her growth has been stunted by chronic neglect. She has mild hypothermia and several bruises on her legs that suggest she’s been fending for herself for months. But physically, with proper nutrition, vitamins, and care, she will recover. Psychologically... that will take time. She doesn't talk much. She watches everything.”
Owen nodded slowly. “Can she come home with me tonight?”
Dr. Vance raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Faulkner, adoption isn't just a business acquisition. It requires legal paperwork, background checks, social services—”
“I have lawyers who can clear those hurdles before midnight,” Owen interrupted quietly. “And I have a home that is entirely too large for one dying man. She needs me, and God help me, Vance, I think I need her.”
An hour later, Hannah was wrapped in a cashmere blanket in the back of the Maybach, clutching a small stuffed bear the head nurse had given her. They drove past the glittering skyscrapers of downtown until they reached Faulkner Manor, an imposing estate perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean.
As the heavy iron gates swung open, Hannah pressed her face against the window. The grand estate looked like a castle from a storybook, illuminated by soft golden lights along the winding driveway.
“Do I have to sleep in the trash cans here?” she whispered, her big eyes reflecting the passing lights.
May you like
Owen’s heart clenched, a physical pain far sharper than his cardiomyopathy. He pulled her a little closer to him on the plush leather seat.
“No, Hannah,” Owen promised, his voice thick with emotion. “You never have to sleep anywhere cold again. This is your home now.”
