Chapter 6: Room 14
Mercy General Hospital was quiet at seven in the morning.
Arthur had slept three hours on Daniel's couch.
He hadn't tried for more.
By five he was sitting at Daniel's kitchen table with a cup of coffee, reading the letter again, though he had it memorized by then.
Ellen, Daniel's wife, had taken the children in without a word of complaint.
She'd made up the guest room, found an old stuffed bear for Grace to sleep alongside her rabbit, and sat with them until they were both asleep.
When she came back downstairs, her eyes were red.
"Whatever you need," she told Arthur.
"Whatever those children need.
We're here."
He had nodded.
He hadn't trusted himself to say more than that.
Now he stood in the corridor of the palliative unit on the fourth floor.
Daniel was beside him.
A nurse had told them Room 14, end of the hall, and that Sarah had asked not to be disturbed before eight.
Arthur had shown her the letter.
The nurse had read the first two lines, handed it back, and walked them down herself.
The door was slightly open.
Arthur knocked once, softly.
"Come in." The voice was thin.
But it was there.
He pushed the door open.
She was smaller than he remembered.
He had last seen Sarah when she was twenty-four years old, standing in the hallway of his house with her coat already on, her face composed in the careful way of someone who had already done their crying in private.
She had shaken his hand.
She had thanked him for his kindness.
She had walked out.
He had let her.
That had been nine years ago, and he had thought about it more times than he would ever admit.
She was thirty-three now.
She looked older than that.
Her hair was dark against the white pillow.
Her hands, folded on top of the blanket, were very thin.
But her eyes were the same.
Clear.
Direct.
A little guarded, even now.
"Arthur," she said.
"Sarah." He came to the chair beside the bed and sat down.
Daniel stayed near the door.
"Leo found me."
"I know." The smallest smile.
"He's like that.
Once he decides to do something, he does it." The smile faded.
"Are they all right?"
"They're safe.
They're with Daniel's family.
They slept."
Something went out of her face — tension she had been holding for a long time.
Her eyes closed for a moment.
"Thank you," she said.
"That's — thank you."
"Sarah." Arthur leaned forward.
"Why didn't you contact me sooner?"
She opened her eyes.
"You know why."
"Richard."
"He made himself very clear nine years ago." Her voice was steady.
"I wasn't afraid of him.
I just didn't want my children near him.
And I knew that if I came to you, he'd find out." She paused.
"I waited too long.
I know that."
"You were protecting them."
"I was protecting them wrong," she said.
"I should have — " She stopped.
Looked at the ceiling.
"It doesn't matter now.
What matters is that you have them."
"I need to ask you something," Arthur said.
"Richard came here two days ago."
Her expression didn't change.
But her hands tightened slightly on the blanket.
"I know," she said.
"What did he say?"
"He didn't say anything." Her voice was flat.
"He stood in the doorway for about thirty seconds.
Looked at me.
Then he left." She turned her head toward Arthur.
"He wanted to see how bad it was.
He was checking."
"Checking what?"
"Whether I was going to be a problem much longer."
The room was very quiet.
Daniel shifted near the door.
"He doesn't know about Grace," Sarah said.
"He knew about Leo.
He chose to walk away from Leo.
Grace — " She paused.
"Grace was born two years after I left.
He has no idea she exists."
"He'll find out," Arthur said.
"When he learns the children are with me—"
"I know." She looked at him directly.
"That's why I need you to promise me something before he does."
Arthur held her gaze.
"Tell me."
"Don't let him use them to get to you.
Don't let him make this about the family name or the money or any of it." Her voice was quiet but very firm.
"They are not bargaining chips.
They are children.
And they have been through enough."
"Sarah—"
"Promise me, Arthur."
He reached out and covered her thin hands with his.
"I promise you."
She held his gaze for a long moment.
Then she nodded, and some last remaining guard came down from her face, and she looked, for just a moment, like the young woman he remembered.
"There's a folder," she said.
"In the drawer beside the bed.
I need you to take it with you."
Daniel stepped forward and opened the drawer.
Inside was a brown envelope, thick with papers.
"Everything is in there," Sarah said.
"Every message.
Every transfer.
Dates, amounts, account numbers.
His signature on the agreement he made me sign before he gave me the money to leave." She paused.
"I kept it all.
I didn't know if I'd ever need it.
But I kept it."
Arthur took the envelope from Daniel.
He held it the same way he had held Leo's letter the night before — carefully, with both hands.
"Rest now," he said.
"We'll come back this afternoon.
And we'll bring the children."
Her breath caught.
Just once.
"Leo will want to talk your ear off," she said softly.
"He has questions about everything.
He always has."
"Good," Arthur said.
"So do I."
He stood.
He was almost at the door when her voice came again.
"Arthur."
He turned.
"Richard called me last night," she said.
"After visiting hours.
He left a voicemail." She paused.
"He said he was going to make sure those children were never recognized as Harrisons.
He said he had lawyers.
May you like
He said I had nothing." Her eyes were steady.
"I think he's already moving."
