Chapter 8 - Blood and Redemption
The sickening sound of the metal blade sinking into soft shoulder tissue made the breath catch in my throat. Ethan gasped, his face twisting in sudden agony, but he didn't give an inch of ground.
Using his remaining physical strength, he grabbed the attacker by the throat with his right arm and slammed the man heavily onto the hood of the sedan, holding him pinned with brute force until the distant blare of approaching police sirens grew deafeningly loud.
The attackers panicked, tearing themselves free and fleeing down the alleyway on foot just as three police cruisers rounded the block.
Ethan collapsed heavily onto his knees on the cold concrete, dark red blood rapidly soaking through his light gray sweater.
"Ethan!" I dropped to the ground beside him, my hands shaking uncontrollably as I pressed my palms against the deep wound on his shoulder. "Ethan, stay awake! Look at me!"
He turned his head slowly, his skin ghostly white, his breathing coming in shallow, ragged gasps. He didn't look at his wound. He looked past my shoulder to Noah, who was crying frantically against my side.
"Is... is he okay?" Ethan whispered, his hand reaching out weakly toward the boy. "Did they... touch him?"
"He's safe! He's completely fine! Stop talking!" Tears streamed down my cheeks, dripping onto his blood-stained sweater.
Ethan’s trembling fingers reached up to gently touch my cheek, leaving a faint streak of blood across my skin. "Good... as long as you two are safe... nothing else matters." His eyes rolled back, and his head slumped heavily into my lap.
For forty-eight agonizing hours, Ethan lay in the intensive care unit at Chicago Memorial Hospital following emergency trauma surgery.
I refused to leave his bedside. On the second evening, as the sun began to set over the city, Noah crept quietly up to the edge of the tall hospital bed. He reached out and wrapped his small fingers around Ethan’s bandaged left hand—the hand with the exact same nervous, twitching fingers.
"Daddy," Noah whispered softly, using the word for the very first time in his life. "Please wake up. I drew another boat for you."
May you like
Ethan’s fingers twitched gently. His eyes fluttered open, filled with weak confusion until his gaze found Noah's face. Tears leaked from the corners of his slate-gray eyes as he feebly squeezed our son's tiny hand in return.
Following his release from the hospital, Ethan didn't settle the score behind closed doors. He called a massive, national press conference at Blackwood Headquarters. Standing before dozens of news cameras with his arm in a sling, Ethan publicly exposed the Sterling family’s crimes, officially named Noah as his sole biological heir, and publicly declared his eternal devotion to the woman he had wronged seven years ago.
