Chapter 3 - The Waking
The intensive care unit was silent except for the rhythmic, mechanical swoosh of the respirator and the steady beep of the heart monitor. Forty-eight hours had passed since Dr. Thorne completed the six-hour neurosurgery. The operation had been a technical success, but Sloan had not yet regained consciousness.
Griffin had converted the private ICU suite into a makeshift command center. He hadn't slept more than two hours in two days. A private security detail watched the hallway, while his personal assistant had transformed an adjacent waiting room into a living space for Hazel and Iris, complete with beds, toys, and tutors.
It was three in the morning when the heart monitor's rhythm flickered slightly.
Griffin, sitting in the armchair beside Sloan's bed with her cold, thin hand wrapped firmly in his, froze. He looked up.
Sloan’s eyelashes fluttered. A soft, agonizing groan escaped her pale lips as she slowly turned her head against the white pillow.
"Sloan?" Griffin stood up instantly, leaning over the bed, his voice tight with desperation. "Sloan, can you hear me?"
Her eyes opened slowly, unfocused and heavy with sedation. She blinked against the dim ambient light of the room until her gaze finally locked onto the tall, dark-haired figure standing over her.
The moment she recognized him, her pulse spiked on the monitor. Panic flared in her brown eyes, and she tried to pull her hand away, but she was too weak.
"G... Griffin?" her voice was a raspy whisper.
"Don't try to move," Griffin commanded softly, his hand gently smoothing the hair away from her forehead. "You're in the ICU. You had a brain bleed, Sloan. You almost died."
She closed her eyes briefly, memories returning in a sudden, terrifying flood—the blinding pain behind her eye, the floor rushing up to meet her, the sound of her daughters crying.
"The girls..." she gasped, struggling for breath. "Hazel... Iris..."
"They're safe," Griffin said, his voice dropping into a tone so cold and intense it chilled the room. "They're in the next room sleeping. They called me, Sloan. Hazel used my emergency contact on your phone."
Sloan's breath hitched. Tears welled in her eyes as she turned her head away from him, unable to bear the searing intensity of his gaze. "Griffin... please..."
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"They asked me if I was their father," Griffin whispered, leaning closer, his voice cracking with a mix of fury, agony, and immense grief. "Eight years, Sloan. Eight years I spent believing you walked away from me because you didn't love me anymore. Eight years I spent wondering what I did wrong. And all this time, you were raising my daughters alone in Seattle?"
"You don't understand," she wept silently, her shoulders shaking against the white sheet. "I had to... I had no choice..."
