Chapter 5 - Room Four of City GeneralThe sterile fluorescent lights of City General Hospital buzzed with a low, agonizing hum.
Jonathan Hail walked down the linoleum corridor with heavy, measured strides, his suit jacket slung over his shoulder, his tie still missing. Behind him trailed Josie, clutching a stuffed plastic bear Rosa Alvarez had hastily shoved into her arms before escaping the media horde.
They stopped outside Room Four.
Through the small reinforced glass window, Martha Bell looked impossibly small. Tubes taped to her paper-thin skin hissed rhythmically with oxygen. A heart monitor beeped with a slow, steady pulse—a lifeline fighting against the ticking clock of old age.
"She’s sleeping," Jonathan murmured, gently resting his hand on Josie’s shoulder. "Do you want to go in alone for a minute, or should we go together?"
Josie squeezed his thumb. "Together, please. You're the dad today, remember?"
Jonathan swallowed hard—a rare lump forming in his throat. He pushed the heavy door open.
The room smelled of antiseptic, rubbing alcohol, and old paper. As they approached the bed, Martha’s eyelids fluttered. Slowly, painfully, the old woman turned her head. Her clouded, milky-blue eyes scanned the room, passing over the medical equipment, landing on the towering figure of a billionaire in an unbuttoned shirt, and finally resting on the pale blue yarn tassel of her adopted granddaughter's graduation cap.
Martha’s cracked lips parted. A raspy, wheezing sound escaped—part laugh, part cough.
"Well... look what the cat dragged in," Martha whispered, her voice like dry autumn leaves rustling across pavement. "Did you bring the rich man home to fix the plumbing, sweet pea?"
Josie burst into happy tears, scrambling up onto the edge of the hospital bed to bury her face in the old woman’s frail shoulder. "He’s not a plumber, Martha! He’s our dad now! He told the picture-takers outside that we're a family!"
Martha slowly raised a trembling, liver-spotted hand, her fingers finding the pale blue yarn on Josie’s cap. Then, her gaze shifted to Jonathan, who stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed, feeling more exposed than he ever had in front of a congressional committee.
"You're a fool, Jonathan Hail," Martha wheezed, a faint, mischievous spark lighting up her failing eyes. "Taking on a stray like her. She eats three bowls of cereal a day and talks to stray cats."
Jonathan walked forward, resting his large hands on the metal guardrail of the bed. For the first time in his life, the billionaire didn't offer a contract, a check, or a buyout.
May you like
He just offered the truth.
"She gets that from her grandfather, I suppose," Jonathan replied quietly.
