Chapter 6
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Nurses came periodically with updates. "Dr. Reed is still working. Your father is stable." Their practiced reassurances did little to ease the knot in my stomach.
At hour five, Michael touched my shoulder. "You should eat something."
I shook my head. "I'm not hungry."
"You look like you haven't eaten in days." He studied me more closely. "Izzy, what's really going on? This isn't just about Dad, is it?"
I hesitated, then decided I needed to tell someone. "I'm getting divorced."
Michael's eyebrows shot up. "What? Since when?"
"Since yesterday." I gave him the abbreviated version—Ryan's infidelity, the confrontation, the divorce papers—leaving out the pregnancy and my fall.
"Jesus, Iz." He sat beside me, taking my hand. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"
"It didn't seem important compared to Dad's situation."
"Of course it's important. You're important." He squeezed my hand. "Does Dad know?"
"No, and I don't want to tell him until after he's recovered."
Michael nodded. "And Dr. Reed? How exactly do you know him?"
Before I could formulate a response, the waiting room door opened and Ethan appeared, still in his surgical scrubs. He looked exhausted but composed. Michael and I both stood.
"The surgery was successful," Ethan said without preamble. "We were able to bypass all four blockages. There was a complication with his rhythm during closure, but we managed it. He's in recovery now."
Relief washed over me so intensely that my knees nearly buckled. "He's going to be okay?"
"The next 24 hours are critical, but yes, I believe he'll make a full recovery." Ethan's professional demeanor softened slightly. "Your father is remarkably resilient. He was talking about board meetings before we even finished the anesthesia."
Michael laughed. "That sounds like Dad."
"When can we see him?" I asked.
"He'll be in the ICU for monitoring overnight. You can see him briefly now, but he'll be groggy from the anesthesia." Ethan hesitated, then added, "Ms. Sinclair-Hamilton, could I speak with you privately for a moment?"
Michael glanced between us curiously but nodded. "I'll go call the board members with the update."
Once we were alone, Ethan's professional facade slipped. He looked even more tired up close, with dark circles under his eyes and tension in his shoulders.
"I wanted to check on you as well," he said quietly. "You've been through a lot in the past few days."
"I'm fine," I said automatically.
"No, you're not." His directness was oddly comforting. "But you're strong. Stronger than I initially gave you credit for."
"Thank you for saving my father."
"I just did my job." He paused. "About yesterday, at the hotel—"
"I'd rather not discuss that," I interrupted. "It's in the past."
"Is it?" His gaze was searching. "You lost a child, Isabella. That's not something that just goes away."
I looked away, fighting the tightness in my throat. "I've filed for divorce. Ryan and I are over."
"I'm not asking about Ryan."
"Then what are you asking?"
"I'm asking if you're okay." His voice was gentle now, all traces of his usual sharpness gone. "Not as your father's doctor, not as the stranger who found you in that stairwell, but as someone who... cares."
The simple admission caught me off guard. "Why would you care? You don't even know me."
"I know enough." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I was beginning to recognize as a sign of his discomfort. "I know you tried to create a life separate from your family's wealth and name. I know you married a man who didn't deserve you. And I know you faced the truth when it would have been easier to look away."
"You forgot the part where I lied about who I was for three years."
"We all hide parts of ourselves." He shrugged. "Some just have more to hide than others."
A nurse appeared in the doorway. "Dr. Reed, Mr. Sinclair-Hamilton is asking for his children."
Ethan nodded. "We'll continue this conversation later. Your father needs you now."
---
Dad looked smaller somehow, surrounded by machines monitoring his every heartbeat. But his eyes were clear when they found mine.
"There's my girl," he said, voice raspy from the breathing tube they'd removed. "Don't look so worried. It takes more than a faulty ticker to keep me down."
I took his hand, careful of the IV. "You scared us."
"Necessary risk." His gaze shifted to Michael, then back to me. "Dr. Reed tells me you two knew each other before."
"Briefly," I said, shooting a glance at Ethan, who stood checking the monitors.
"Good man," my father murmured. "Straight shooter. Reminds me of your grandfather."
I couldn't imagine two more different men than my aristocratic grandfather and Ethan, but I nodded anyway.
"Isabella," my father continued, "the board meeting next week. I want you there."
"Dad, you should focus on recovering—"
"I am. By making sure the company is in good hands." His grip tightened on mine. "It's time you took your place, Isabella. No more running."
I felt the weight of expectation settle on my shoulders—the legacy, the responsibility, the life I'd tried to escape. But looking at my father's face, I couldn't find it in me to refuse.
"I'll be there," I promised.
He nodded, satisfied, then drifted back to sleep. Michael and I stepped out to let him rest, leaving Ethan to complete his checks.
"So," Michael said when we were in the hallway, "Dr. Reed."
"What about him?"
"He looks at you like he's trying to solve a puzzle."
I shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. "We met under unusual circumstances."
"Mmm." Michael wasn't convinced. "Well, whatever it is, I approve. He's the first man I've seen you genuinely react to in years."
"Don't be ridiculous. He's Dad's doctor."
"For now." Michael smiled knowingly. "But Dad's going to recover, and then Dr. Reed will just be Dr. Reed. And you'll just be Isabella Sinclair-Hamilton, newly single heiress to a fortune."
"Stop it," I warned, but couldn't help smiling.
For the first time in days, I felt something like hope stirring beneath the grief and exhaustion. My father would recover. I would rebuild my life. And maybe, just maybe, there was something worth exploring with the brutally honest doctor who'd seen me at my worst and still looked at me like I mattered.
