Chapter 3 - The Hospital Race and The Reunion
The three-car armored convoy ran six red lights across Manhattan, siren blaring through the heavy downpour, escorted by two motor-unit officers clearing the traffic.
Inside the middle SUV, Dominic sat with Lucy curled up on his lap. He had ordered the driver to blast the heat. He held a glass of warm milk for her, watching as the color slowly returned to her pale cheeks.
“Does your mother talk about me?” Dominic asked gently, running his fingers through her drying hair.
Lucy nodded, taking a small sip. “All the time. She kept a small wooden box in her closet. Inside was a silver watch with your initials on the back, and a picture of you two on a beach.”
Dominic’s breath caught in his throat. It was the watch he had given Elena on her twenty-fifth birthday—the one he thought she had thrown in the trash the night he pushed her away. She had kept it. For eight long, lonely years, she had treasured it.
“What did she tell you about the picture?”
“She said you were the only man who ever made her feel safe,” Lucy murmured, leaning her head against his chest. “She said you had a cold shell, but a golden heart.”
Dominic closed his eyes tightly, swallowed down the lump in his throat, and squeezed his daughter tighter. I didn't protect you, Elena. But I swear to God, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you both.
Ten minutes later, the armored convoy screeched to a halt outside Queens General Hospital.
Dominic carried Lucy through the sliding glass doors, flanked by six armed guards in charcoal suits. The hospital staff panicked at the sudden invasion of high-profile security, but Marcus stepped forward, tossing a black credit card onto the reception desk.
“Clear the fourth floor,” Marcus demanded with cold efficiency. “Dominic Hale is taking over patient care for Elena Carter.”
The head nurse’s eyes went wide. Everyone in New York knew the name Dominic Hale. They moved out of the way instantly.
Dominic walked down the sterile, dim hallway of the oncology ward until he reached Room 412. Through the glass window, he saw her.
Elena.
She looked so fragile. Her once-vibrant olive skin was pale, her dark hair thinned, and an IV drip was hooked to her slender arm. She was staring out the window at the rain, holding a small wooden box against her lap, weeping silently.
Dominic’s heart shattered into a million pieces.
He pushed the door open softly.
Elena didn't look up right away. “Nurse, please... did anyone find my daughter? She’s been gone for hours, I’m so scared—”
“She’s right here, Elena.”
The sound of his voice hit the room like a physical blow.
Elena froze. Slowly, painfully, she turned her head. Her green eyes—the same brilliant green he had dreamed about for nearly a decade—widened in disbelief.
She saw Dominic standing in the doorway, soaked, his expensive suit rumpled, holding their daughter in his arms.
“Dominic?” she breathed, her voice trembling, convinced she was hallucinating from the morphine. “Is... is that really you?”
Dominic stepped into the room. He gently set Lucy down on her feet. “Go sit on the couch for a minute, sweetie,” he murmured to the girl.
Lucy obeyed, climbing onto the vinyl sofa in the corner, watching her parents with big, curious eyes.
Dominic walked over to the hospital bed. He dropped to his knees beside Elena’s mattress, reaching out to grasp her thin, cold hands in his.
“It’s me, Elena,” he choked out, pressing his forehead against her knuckles. “I’m here. I read the letter. Oh God, Elena, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
Tears overflowed from Elena’s eyes, dripping onto his dark hair. “You came... I thought you would throw the letter away. I thought you hated me.”
“I was a fool,” Dominic swore, looking up into her face, his eyes fierce with love and desperation. “I was a blind, arrogant fool who let pride ruin the best thing in my life. But I’m here now. And I am never letting you go again.”
Before Elena could answer, the door burst open. Dr. Harrison, the top oncologist from Columbia Presbyterian whom Dominic had summoned, walked in with a team of four specialists.
“Mr. Hale,” Dr. Harrison said respectfully. “The helicopter is waiting on the roof. The private isolation suite at Columbia is prepared. We have her charts.”
Dominic stood up, turning to Elena with total authority. “We’re leaving this place, Elena. I’ve brought the best doctors in the country. You’re coming to my private wing, and we are going to fight this cancer together.”
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Elena looked at him, overwhelmed, tears streaming down her face. “Dominic... it’s stage three. The doctors here said—”
“I don’t care what the doctors here said,” Dominic interrupted fiercely, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. “You survive this, Elena Carter. That is an order from the man who loves you.”
