Chapter 5 - The Reunion at St. Jude's
The drive across town through the tail end of the storm felt like navigating a war zone. Fallen tree branches littered Lake Shore Drive, and emergency flashers blinked orange against the dark facades of brick apartment buildings.
When I pulled up to St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital, I didn't bother handing my keys to a valet; I parked illegally in a handicapped zone, bolted through the automatic doors, and flashed my driver's license at the front desk like a badge.
"Arden Vale," I demanded. "Room 412. Family obstetrics and trauma recovery."
"Sir, visiting hours ended two hours ago, and patients in recovery are restricted to—"
"I am her ex-husband and the father of her children," I cut across the receptionist's speech, my voice dropping into that terrifying corporate register that made people instantly comply. "Call the floor nurse and tell her Sterling Pike is on his way up."
The receptionist blinked, recognized the name or the dangerous look in my eyes, and hurriedly picked up the phone. Two minutes later, I was striding down the fourth-floor corridor, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
Room 412 was a private recovery suite at the end of the hall. The door stood half-open.
I stopped dead in my tracks before crossing the threshold.
Arden was sitting up in the adjustable hospital bed, her left arm strapped securely against her chest in a rigid blue clavicle brace. Her long, dark hair—usually meticulously styled—was tangled and pulled back into a messy ponytail. A white bandage was taped neatly above her right eyebrow, highlighting the stark pallor of her skin.
She looked smaller than I remembered. Fragile, yet burning with an intense, quiet fury.
Standing beside her bed was a young social worker holding a clipboard, speaking in soothing, clinical tones. "...just standard protocol, Ms. Vale. Once the pediatric transport is fully documented, we will need to assess your home living situation to ensure adequate support infrastructure for premature twins, especially given that your emergency contact listing lists an estranged—"
"I don't need a social worker, and I certainly don't need an assessment," Arden's voice cut through the room, sharp and biting, though it trembled slightly. "I have a design business, I own my townhouse outright, and I am perfectly capable of raising my children. The accident was caused by a falling tree branch, not negligence. Now please, leave my room."
"Arden."
The name slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it.
The room went instantly dead silent.
Arden froze. The social worker turned around, looking surprised.
Slowly, agonizingly, Arden turned her head toward the doorway. Her eyes—those deep, expressive hazel eyes that used to look at me with absolute devotion—widened as they locked onto mine. For a fraction of a second, I saw raw shock flicker across her face. Then, like a steel shutter slamming down in a hurricane, her expression hardened into pure, glacial ice.
"What is he doing here?" she asked, her voice dropping into a dangerous whisper as she looked past me at the empty hallway.
"Mr. Pike was notified by counsel regarding the medical emergency at the clinic," the social worker supplied helpfully, adjusting her glasses. "Since he is listed as—"
"He is listed as a mistake," Arden interrupted, never breaking eye contact with me. Her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath her hospital gown, her good hand gripping the white cotton blanket so tightly her knuckles turned white. "Get him out of my room."
"Arden, please," I said, taking two slow, deliberate steps forward into the room, my hands held up in a gesture of total surrender. "I know how this looks. I know what a disaster I am. But I just came from the NICU in Evanston. I saw Leo. I signed the papers for his lung."
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At the mention of her son's name, the icy armor cracked. A sharp, ragged gasp escaped Arden's lips, and her eyes suddenly glistened with hot, unshed tears.
"Is he... is he okay?" she whispered, the tough exterior completely dissolving into the desperate, agonizing plea of a mother whose world had just been ripped apart. "Tell me the truth, Sterling. Don't lie to me."
