Chapter 5 - Confronting the Ghost of the Past
Two days later, I was cleared for discharge. The physical transition from the hospital bed to a wheelchair was exhausting, but the emotional hurdle waiting for me in the lobby was monumental.
Ethan had insisted on driving us home. I had initially refused, but Linda pointed out that after a C-section, I couldn't legally drive myself, and carrying a heavy car seat was entirely out of the question.
As Ethan wheeled me through the sliding glass doors of Hartford Memorial, the crisp autumn air hit my face. But the fresh air did little to calm the sudden spike in my heart rate. Standing next to Ethan’s sleek black sedan was the one person I hoped never to see again.
Eleanor Chen.
My former mother-in-law stood under the awning, her designer trench coat perfectly pressed, her pearls gleaming in the afternoon sun. When she saw us, her eyes locked onto the car seat resting in Ethan’s hand.
"Ethan," Eleanor said, her voice dripping with calculated poise. "I came as soon as I heard the rumor from the board members. What is the meaning of this? Why is she here, and whose baby is that?"
I felt my defensive walls slam up instantly. I braced my hands against the armrests of the wheelchair, ready to push through the surgical pain to defend my son.
But before I could speak, Ethan stepped forward. He placed himself firmly between his mother and my wheelchair, shielding Jonah and me from her gaze.
"Her name is Chloe, Mother," Ethan said. His voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a terrifyingly cold, unyielding weight that I had never heard him use against her before. "And this is Jonah. He is my son. Your grandson."
Eleanor blinked, her perfect facade cracking. "Your son? Ethan, you've been divorced for nine months! If she hid this from you, it was a manipulation to—"
"Stop," Ethan interrupted, raising a hand. "Not another word. Chloe didn't manipulate anyone. I abandoned her. I let your endless criticisms and your obsession with status ruin the best thing that ever happened to me. I walked out on my wife, and because of that, I missed the birth of my first child. If you say one more disrespectful word to the mother of my son, you will never see me, or this child, ever again."
Eleanor gasped, her face draining of color. She looked at Ethan as if he had become a stranger.
"Ethan, I am your mother—"
"And Chloe is my family," Ethan said fiercely. "Choose your next words very carefully."
Eleanor looked from Ethan's hard expression to me, sitting silently in the wheelchair. For the first time in her life, she had nothing to say. Turning on her heel, she walked away toward her own car, her polished heels clicking sharply against the concrete.
Ethan exhaled a long, shaky breath, his shoulders dropping. He turned back around, kneeling down in front of my wheelchair. His eyes were searching mine, desperate for a sign.
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"I should have done that three years ago," he whispered.
I looked at him, my heart aching with a complex mixture of lingering anger and a sudden, undeniable spark of respect. "Yes," I said softly. "You should have. But thank you for doing it today."
