Chapter 6 - The Hospital Pavilion
Twenty-four hours later, I was back in the private wing of the hospital, sitting up in a broad armchair near the window.
The heavy bandages over my left eye had been replaced with a lighter, sterile dressing. Dr. Alison Curtis had just finished performing an advanced ultrasound scan on my eye socket.
"The swelling has dropped by forty percent," Dr. Curtis announced, a genuine smile lighting up her tired face. "And the optic nerve shows no permanent tears. Sadie, you're going to keep your vision. You'll need a secondary cosmetic procedure next month to smooth out the scar along your eyebrow, but your eye is safe."
Wyatt let out a long, ragged sigh of relief, resting his forehead against the side of my chair. "Thank God," he whispered. "Thank God."
I touched the light dressing over my eye, feeling the faint, tender stitches beneath. "A scar is fine, Doctor. It will remind me of the day I stopped letting them hurt me."
A soft knock sounded at the door.
Uncle Arthur was wheeled into the room by a dedicated private nurse. He was wearing clean blue pajamas, his white hair trimmed neatly, his face pale but resting comfortably. He looked ten years younger than he had in the attic.
"Sadie," Arthur smiled, reaching out his hand.
I pulled my chair closer so I could hold his fingers. "How are you feeling, Uncle Arthur?"
"I ate a hot meal today, girl," Arthur said, a tear twinkling in his eye. "Real soup. Not the canned slop your mother threw at me once a day. And the doctor says my heart is strong."
He looked over at Wyatt, examining my fiancé with sharp, discerning eyes.
"So," Arthur said, his voice regaining its natural authority. "You're the young man who refused to leave my niece for that viper Melanie?"
Wyatt stood up straight, offering his hand respectfully. "I’m Wyatt Campbell, sir. And I wouldn't leave Sadie if someone offered me the entire world."
Arthur took Wyatt’s hand and shook it firmly. "Good. Because she deserves a man who sees her worth. My brother—her grandfather—always said Sadie was the iron in this family. The rest of them were made of soft, rotten clay."
The door opened again, and Eleanor Vance entered, accompanied by Chief Donald Briggs.
"I have an update from the prosecutor's office," Chief Briggs said, pulling up a chair. "Gregory and Brenda Davis were formally arraigned two hours ago. The judge set bail at five million dollars each. They couldn't post it, so they’re being held at the county jail."
"And Melanie?" I asked.
"Melanie’s legal team tried to argue she was an innocent bystander," Eleanor Vance chimed in, a cold smirk playing on her lips. "Until we submitted the text messages recovered from her phone by the cyber-crimes unit."
Wyatt tilted his head. "What text messages?"
Eleanor pulled a printout from her briefcase. "Forty-eight hours before the assault at the dinner, Melanie sent a text to her mother that read: 'If we can't convince Wyatt to drop Sadie, Dad needs to make sure Sadie isn't fit to walk down an aisle anytime soon. Wyatt won't marry a cripple.'"
A collective silence fell over the room.
"That text message establishes premeditated conspiracy to commit grievous bodily harm," Eleanor said flatly. "Melanie’s bail was denied entirely. She’ll be staying in a cell right next to her mother until the trial."
I looked out the hospital window at the bright morning sky over Columbus.
For twenty-four years, I had believed I was small, unwanted, and second-best. I had believed that if I just worked harder, smiled more, and sacrificed my own happiness, my family would finally love me.
Now I knew the truth.
They didn't hate me because I was weak. They hated me because I was the rightful heir to everything they had stolen, and despite everything they did to break me, I had survived.
"Eleanor," I said, turning back to my lawyer. "When does the asset recovery begin?"
May you like
"Today," Eleanor replied. "I’ve already filed emergency liens against every bank account, vehicle, and property registered in your parents' names. By tomorrow morning, their credit cards will be frozen, their luxury cars will be impounded, and the house on Elm Street will be placed into a court-ordered receivership under your name."
"Good," I said, looking at Uncle Arthur. "Because Uncle Arthur and I have a project to build."
