Chapter 3
534words
I plugged it in, watching the screen flicker to life.
After a moment's hesitation, I removed that once-forbidden number from my blacklist and pressed call.
It barely rang once before someone answered.
As if they'd been waiting by the phone for three years.
A composed yet unmistakably eager voice answered: "Miss Laurent? Is it really you?"
"Yes, Mr. Pierce. It's me."
"Miss Eleanor!" His voice caught slightly. "You've finally... you've called home. You have no idea—in these three years, your father hasn't gone a single day without mentioning your name."
My heart twisted painfully in my chest.
"How is my father's health, Mr. Pierce?"
Silence fell on the other end of the line.
That silence gripped my heart like a vise.
"Your father..." His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "It's not good. The doctors are insisting on immediate surgery. We wanted to contact you, but Mr. Laurent absolutely forbade it. He didn't want to burden you."
The room spun around me. I staggered against the wall, barely keeping upright.
Even now, dying, Dad was still protecting me.
And what had I been doing these three years?
"Which hospital?" My voice shook uncontrollably.
"Mercy General. The private wing."
"I'm on my way."
I ended the call and flew to the bedroom, yanking on clothes with trembling hands.
In the mirror, I caught one final glimpse of the meek, broken Eleanor.
Then I turned away without a backward glance.
The hospital's antiseptic smell hit me the moment I stepped through the doors.
Through the small window in the door, I saw him—a frail figure drowning in white sheets, tubes snaking from his arms.
My breath caught in my throat.
That skeletal figure was my father.
The titan who had once stood mountain-tall, holding up my entire world.
Now withered to skin and bone, ravaged by disease.
An icy fist closed around my heart, squeezing until I couldn't breathe.
I sagged against the wall, legs threatening to give way.
The doctor's verdict hammered in my ears: "Mr. Laurent's condition is critical. We need to operate immediately."
I steeled myself and pushed open the door.
My footsteps roused him from his half-sleep.
Dad's eyes fluttered open, his clouded gaze struggling to focus.
Then recognition dawned, and his eyes lit up with impossible brightness.
"Eleanor? Is it really my little girl?"
"Daddy..." I flew to his side, clutching his paper-thin hand. "It's me. I'm home. I'm so sorry I took so long..."
"You're home," he whispered, tears sliding down his hollow cheeks. "My girl is finally home."
I broke down completely, pressing my face against his fragile hand.
"Pierce told me about Victor." His breath came shallow, but his eyes burned with fierce intensity. "No one treats my daughter this way. No one."
His grip tightened with surprising strength. "The Laurent name still means something. Whatever you need to do, do it. I'll hold on."
I curled beside his bed, sobbing like the little girl who'd skinned her knees and run to daddy for comfort.
But I knew this was the last time I would allow myself to be weak.
