Chapter 8 - The Hospital Room
By the time Julian’s private jet touched down at JFK and his motorcade tore down the highway toward Greenwich Hospital, it was 2:00 PM.
I was sitting in a quiet, private room on the fourth floor of the ICU.
My mother was asleep in the hospital bed, her breathing steady and deep, hooked up to an IV monitor. The doctors had managed to stabilize her anaphylactic shock just in time. The medical team assured me there would be no long-term damage.
I sat in the armchair beside her bed, holding her hand, emotionally shattered, exhausted, my clothes rumpled, tears dried on my cheeks.
The hospital door pushed open quietly.
Julian stepped into the room.
He looked completely disheveled. His tie was gone, his hair was messy, and his charcoal jacket was wrinkled from travel. He took one look at me sitting in that chair, and the powerful billionaire vanished.
He crossed the room in three fast strides, dropped to his knees beside my chair, and pulled me into his arms with a desperate, suffocating tightness.
“I’m sorry,” Julian rasped into my hair, his chest heaving, his broad arms wrapping around me so fiercely I could barely breathe. “I’m so sorry, Victoria. I should have been here. I should have killed that woman weeks ago.”
I broke down.
All the fear, the exhaustion, the terror of almost losing my mother washed over me in a flood of heavy, racking sobs. I buried my face into Julian’s neck, clutching at his shirt, letting him hold me, letting him carry the weight I had carried alone for so long.
“She’s okay,” I wept into his skin. “She’s okay, Julian... the helicopter got her here in time...”
“I know,” Julian whispered, pressing his lips against my hair, my forehead, my cheeks, kissing away my tears with a tender, desperate reverence. “I know, my brave girl. You saved her. You saved everything.”
He pulled back slightly, his large hands framing my face, his gray eyes shining with unshed tears.
“I brought someone with me,” Julian said softly.
He turned toward the hospital door.
Standing in the hallway, holding hands tightly, wearing their little yellow raincoats, were Abigail and Vanessa. Miller stood behind them, guarding the door.
The moment the girls saw me, they slipped past Miller and ran into the room, keeping their voices down so as not to wake my mother, throwing themselves against my legs.
“Miss Victoria!” Vanessa sobbed softly. “Is Grandma okay?”
“She’s gonna be fine, sweetie,” I whispered, leaning down to wrap my arms around both of them, bringing them into the circle of Julian’s embrace. “She’s just sleeping.”
Abigail reached into her raincoat pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper covered in colorful crayon drawings.
“I made this for you,” Abigail whispered, holding it out.
I opened the paper. It was a drawing of a house. On the lawn were four figures holding hands: Julian, Abigail, Vanessa, and me. Above my head, written in crude, beautiful five-year-old handwriting, was a single word:
MOMMY.
I pressed the paper to my heart, sobbing openly now, unable to stop the warm tide of happiness washing through the pain.
Julian looked down at the drawing, then up at me.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a simple, small velvet box. He didn't offer a grand speech. He didn't call the press. He didn't make a corporate deal out of it.
He simply opened the box, revealing a magnificent, flawless emerald ring surrounded by diamonds—the exact color of the Brooklyn dress I had worn to the Plaza.
“Victoria Hayes,” Julian said, his voice deep, steady, and filled with a love that burned brighter than all his billions. “You walked into my life with six dollars and saved my children. You fought for my home, you fought for your mother, and you showed me how to live again. Will you marry me and make this family complete?”
Abigail and Vanessa looked up at me, their little faces pale with hope, holding their breath.
I looked at the billionaire who had dropped to his knees on a hospital floor for me. I looked at the little girls who had given me their hearts.
May you like
“Yes,” I whispered, tears spilling down my cheeks. “Yes, Julian. Absolutely yes.”
The twins let out a quiet, squealing cheer, throwing their arms around our necks, as Julian slid the ring onto my finger and pulled me into a kiss that sealed our lives together forever.
