Chapter 5 - The Guarded Nursery
By the end of the first week, the private pediatric wing of St. Jude’s had become a fortress. Arthur had hired two private security details to stand guard at the elevator doors, keeping both the media and the private investigators hired by Cole Development from entering the floor.
The twins, Leo and Lucas, had been taken out of their oxygen tents. Their skin had returned to a healthy, peach pink, their small cheeks widening as they absorbed the nutrition from the medical-grade formula. They had learned to recognize Arthur’s voice; whenever the tall man in the dark suit walked into the nursery, their small heads would turn toward the sound, their tiny fingers reaching out from the bars of their cribs.
Lily had changed the most. A hospital volunteer had brought her a collection of clean clothes—simple cotton dresses and soft leather shoes—and a social worker had washed the mud from her hair, revealing a thick mass of dark, chestnut curls that matched her mother’s. But she still carried the small, broken porcelain doll everywhere she went, holding it against her chest like a shield.
"Mr. Arthur," Lily said one evening, sitting beside him on the edge of the terrace outside the nursery. The city lights below them looked like a scattering of gold dust against the black Texas night. "Will we have to go back to the room with the rain?"
Arthur looked down at her. He had stopped wearing his ties; his collar was open, his dark hair slightly long at the temples. "No, Lily. You’re never going back there."
"Mommy said if we don't pay the rent, the men will come back and take the door away again," she whispered, her fingers twisting the doll’s dress. "The men had big boots. They threw Lucas's crib into the street. That's why he got the cough."
"The men with the boots are gone, Lily," Arthur said, his hand resting gently on her small shoulder. "I’ve bought the house on the hill—the old one with the white fence and the big oak trees by the river. It’s your house now. The doors stay on."
Lily looked up at him, her dark eyes clear. "Why did you help me? In the bright store, everyone else was laughing. Even the lady with the pretty necklace laughed when I dropped the pennies."
Arthur looked out at the city. For thirty years, he had been one of the people who laughed—not out loud, perhaps, but with his silence. He had walked past a thousand Lilys on his way to his office, his mind focused on profit margins and asset values, treating the human cost of his empire as nothing more than a line item on a ledger.
"Because I was tired of the noise, Lily," Arthur said softly.
May you like
The heavy glass door behind them opened, and Dr. Harrison stepped onto the terrace. His face was pale under the yellow patio lights, but his eyes were bright with an expression Arthur hadn't seen all week.
"Arthur," Harrison said, his voice shaking slightly. "The mother. She’s awake."
