Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Hallway
The scent of antiseptic and metallic blood grew stronger as Matthew rounded the corner into the busy ER corridor. Paramedics shoved past him, heart monitors beeped frantically, and nurses called out orders, but Matthew’s eyes were locked on a small knot of people standing outside Trauma Bay Two.
Dr. Harrison was kneeling on the cold floor, gently trying to comfort a tiny girl who was clinging to a cardboard box as if it were a life raft.
Matthew stopped dead in his tracks five feet away.
The girl turned her head slightly, her profile framed by dark, cascading wavy hair that matched Anne’s exact curl pattern. But it wasn't just the hair. As she looked up toward the bright ceiling lights, Matthew caught sight of her eyes—wide, fierce, and dark amber.
They were his mother’s eyes. They were his eyes.
Matthew felt the ground tilt beneath his feet. His mind raced through a dizzying, terrifying timeline. Six years ago... Anne had left six years ago.
He looked down at the child’s bare, dirt-smudged feet, her faded, hand-me-down dress that was two sizes too small, and the absolute desperation written across her delicate features.
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“Who is her mother?” Matthew’s voice broke the air, rough, strained, and stripped of all billionaire composure.
Dr. Harrison looked up, startled by the commanding presence of the hospital's largest benefactor standing in the middle of the chaotic ER. “Mr. Sullivan? Her mother was brought in twenty minutes ago. Anne Miller. She was hit by a driver near the lower east side residential district.”
