Chapter 5 - Room 412
The rain outside St. Jude’s Chapel was heavy and unrelenting, pounding against the asphalt of the downtown streets. Ethan didn't care. He carried Lucy down the stone steps, ignoring the bewildered looks of two local society photographers standing under umbrellas near the gates.
He slid Lucy into the passenger seat of his dark gray pickup truck, blasting the heater immediately before climbing into the driver's seat.
Lucy huddled under Ethan’s heavy tuxedo jacket, the smell of clean cedar and expensive wool surrounding her as she pressed her back against the heated leather seat. Her amber eyes watched Ethan frantically maneuver the truck out of the church parking lot, running a yellow light as he tore onto the main avenue leading toward the medical district.
"How long has she been sick, Lucy?" Ethan asked, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel, his breathing shallow.
"A long time," Lucy said softly, her voice small inside the warm truck cab. "She worked two jobs at the laundry and the bakery. But last year her heart started hurting. She said she was just tired... but then she couldn't walk up the stairs anymore."
Ethan felt a terrible, suffocating weight pressing down on his chest. For twelve years, he had believed Olivia had abandoned him because he was poor, because he couldn't provide the life she wanted. He had buried his grief under seven-day workweeks, late-night architectural drafting, and eventually, the comfortable, sanitized affection offered by Victoria Hale.
He had lived a lie. And while he was building his prosperous life, the woman he had loved had been dying in a basement apartment ten blocks away, raising his daughter alone on a bakery clerk's wage.
"Why didn't she cash the checks, Lucy?" Ethan asked, his voice cracking as he pulled into the emergency entrance of St. Jude's Mercy Hospital.
"She said it was blood money," Lucy replied plainly, looking down at her muddy sneakers. "She said if she cashed them, the bad lady would know where we were and take me away. She only kept them in the metal tea box so I would know the truth if she died."
Ethan killed the engine in the ambulance bay. He jumped out, ran around the truck, and lifted Lucy out, holding her tight against his side as they burst through the automatic sliding glass doors of the hospital.
The smell of disinfectant, floor wax, and rubbing alcohol hit Ethan instantly. He didn't wait for the receptionist. He sprinted down the wide, white-tiled corridor toward the elevator bank, holding Lucy close.
"Fourth floor!" Lucy called out, pointing her small finger at the lighted floor indicator.
When the elevator doors dinged open on Floor 4, the hallway was quiet, lit by pale fluorescent lights. A lone nurse stood at the central station, charting on a computer.
Ethan rushed past her, searching the room numbers mounted on the wall.
408... 410... 412.
Ethan stopped outside the heavy wooden door of Room 412. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. His hand hovered over the silver door handle, trembling violently.
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"She's in there," Lucy whispered softly from his side, holding his hand.
Ethan squeezed his daughter’s small, wet fingers, pressed down on the handle, and pushed the door open.
