Chapter 7
574words
She nodded, checking my vitals. "That's the bruised ribs. Nothing broken, fortunately. The CT scan showed a mild concussion, but no bleeding or swelling in the brain. You were lucky."
There was that word again. Lucky.
"When can I go home?" I asked.
"We'd like to keep you overnight for observation, given the concussion. If all goes well, you can be discharged tomorrow morning." She glanced at Nathan, then back to me. "Is there someone who can stay with you for the next 24 hours after discharge? You shouldn't be alone with a concussion."
Before I could answer, Nathan spoke. "I'll be there."
I turned to him, ready to object, but something in his expression stopped me. Determination, concern, and something else—fear? Had he been worried about me?
"That won't be necessary," I said finally. "I can call a friend."
Dr. Bennett looked between us, clearly sensing the tension. "Well, you have some time to figure that out. For now, rest is the best medicine. I'll check on you again in a few hours."
After she left, an awkward silence fell between us. Nathan stood, moving to the window, his back to me. The late afternoon light cast his silhouette in sharp relief, reminding me of countless evenings watching him at his desk in our home office, working late into the night.
"You don't have to stay," I said, breaking the silence. "I'm fine."
He turned, his expression unreadable. "I know I don't have to. I want to."
"Why?" The question escaped before I could stop it. "We signed the divorce papers yesterday, Nathan. It's over."
He flinched slightly, as if my words had physically struck him. "Is that what you think? That a signature means I stop caring?"
"Isn't that what you showed me eight months ago?" The bitterness in my voice surprised even me. "When I was losing our baby and you were nowhere to be found?"
Pain flashed across his face. "Olivia, I've tried to explain—"
"Your explanations don't change what happened," I interrupted. "I needed you, and you weren't there. End of story."
He moved back to the chair, sitting down heavily. "You're right. I wasn't there when you needed me most, and I will regret that for the rest of my life. But that doesn't mean I've stopped caring about you."
Something in his voice—raw honesty, perhaps—made me look at him more closely. The Nathan I knew was always controlled, always composed. This man before me seemed... broken. Had our separation affected him as deeply as it had me?
Before I could respond, the door opened again, and a tall, distinguished man with silver hair and cold gray eyes entered—Victor Carter, Nathan's father and one of Boston's most powerful businessmen.
"Nathan," he said, his voice carrying the authority of someone used to being obeyed. "I've been looking for you."
Then his gaze fell on me, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop. "Dr. Carter. I heard about your accident. How... unfortunate."
There had never been any love lost between Victor and me. From the moment Nathan had introduced us, Victor had made it clear he considered me unsuitable for his son—a mere psychologist from a middle-class family, not the socialite or business connection he had envisioned for the Carter heir.
"Mr. Carter," I acknowledged coolly. "What a surprise to see you here."
