Chapter 5 - The Hospital Room and the Hidden ThreatThe sterile smell of antiseptic and rubbing alcohol hit me the moment I pushed open the door to Room 412 at Northwestern Memorial Hospital.
The harsh fluorescent lighting contrasted sharply with the dim, cozy warmth of my apartment, but right now, this white room was the safest place on earth.
Sophie was sitting up slightly in the adjustable hospital bed, propped up by two fluffy pillows. A neat, white gauze bandage was taped securely over her left ear, covering the stitches the ER doctor had put in. She was holding a bright pink crayon in her right hand, coloring clumsily in a superhero coloring book I had grabbed from the hospital gift shop.
When the door clicked open, her head snapped up.
"Mommy!"
She dropped the crayon and held out her arms. I rushed across the linoleum floor, gently climbing onto the edge of the mattress and pulling her into a tight, protective embrace, careful not to jostle her bandaged head.
"I'm right here, baby. I'm right here," I murmured, kissing the top of her soft brown curls over and over again, letting the tears I had held back in front of my family finally spill over.
"Are we going back to Uncle Preston's wedding?" Sophie asked softly into my shoulder, her voice small and hesitant.
"Never, sweet girl," I whispered fiercely, pulling back to look directly into her big, trusting eyes. "We are never going anywhere near those people ever again. It's just you and me. Always."
Sophie smiled, a bright, gap-toothed grin that melted away the last remaining shards of my broken heart. "Good. The cake wasn't even that good anyway. It tasted like cardboard."
I let out a watery chuckle, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand.
Just then, my phone buzzed sharply in my coat pocket.
I pulled it out, expecting a call from the hospital billing department or perhaps a follow-up from Officer Davis regarding Preston's booking status. Instead, it was an unknown number flashing across the screen, accompanied by a single text message.
I tapped the screen. The message contained a photograph and two lines of text.
The photo was a clear, high-resolution close-up of Sophie and me walking out of the hospital lobby fifteen minutes earlier, taken from across the snowy street through the lens of a high-powered telephoto camera.
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The text read: You think putting Preston away solves your problems, Evelyn? You pulled the trigger on our family. Now you and the brat pay the price. Watch your back.
My blood ran instantly cold.
