Se connecterScarlett's POV The ICU was more than the emergency floor. The nurse slid the glass door open just enough for me to step through. The monitors hit me first, steady beeps, the sigh of oxygen, the low continuous hum of machines doing work that should have been ordinary. Spencer lay in the bed, lines running from both arms. One leg was in a heavy brace, bruising spread dark across the left side of his face and down along his collarbone where the seatbelt had locked and had bandages on, his eyes were close. I had stood at the foot of beds like this a hundred times. I had delivered updates in a calm voice while families came apart in front of me, none of that training reached me now. My throat closed and my hands started shaking before I even reached the rail. This was not a patient. This was the man who made coffee every morning for eleven years, who counted standing kicks so a ten-year-old’s heart rate stayed safe, who had walked out of our kitchen hours earlier with his jaw locked an
Scarlett's POV I don’t remember most of the drive. One minute I was standing in the kitchen with the hospital still on the phone, the next I was pushing through the emergency department doors with my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my teeth, he air smelled like disinfectant and floor wax. Someone at the desk asked me to spell the last name twice before they would tell me anything. “Spencer Ashford, I’m the emergency contact." My voice was shaky. "They called me.” "Trauma is still with him," The nurse checked a screen, typed something, then pointed down a corridor. “Family waiting area is to the left. Someone will come out when they can.” I didn’t sit. I stood near the double doors with my arms locked around myself and stared at the scuffed linoleum until the pattern stopped making sense. People moved past me with clipboards and badges. Every time the doors opened I looked up too fast. A doctor in blue scrubs finally pushed through. . He looked exhausted, his mask han
Scarlett's POVI was still sitting on the bottom step when I heard the first set of footsteps on the stairs.I stood up fast, wiped my face with the back of my hand, and walked into the kitchen before either of them could see me on the floor. I turned on the faucet and let the cold water run over my wrists until the skin went numb. The coffee Spencer had made was still sitting on the counter, half-cold, the dark surface reflecting the overhead light. I poured it down the sink. The smell of it made the empty space near the stove feel sharper. I started a fresh pot because the silence needed something ordinary to fill it.Valeria came in first, sketchbook tucked under her arm, socks quiet on the tile. She stopped just inside the doorway and looked at the place where Spencer usually stood with the spatula, her fingers tightened on the edge of the sketchbook, then she looked at me.“Good morning,” I kept my voice even. “Sit down, I’m making eggs.”She set the sketchbook on the table witho
Scarlett's POV I went upstairs after the kids were finally settled. Spencer was already in the bedroom. The lamp on his side was on, throwing a yellow circle across the floor. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the spot where the carpet met the wall. He hadn’t come down for dinner. I’d left a plate covered on the counter and it was still there when I came up, the pasta gone cold. I closed the door behind me carefully so it wouldn’t click too loud. “You didn’t come down for dinner.” I said. "I wasn't hungry," he said flatly. I set my phone on the dresser and sat on my side of the bed. The mattress dipped under my weight. He didn’t look over, his shoulders were tight. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing," he said. "I'm just tired.” I watched the side of his face. The muscle near his jaw kept jumping. I knew that look. “You’ve been different since Nicholas left this afternoon,” I said. “You’re giving me one-word answers. You didn’t sit with us after t
Spencer's POV Scarlett was on the phone in the hallway when I sat down on the living room floor with Aiden. He had the tablet propped against a stack of books, the echo video already queued. Valeria sat at the table with her sketchbook open, pencil moving in short, precise strokes, but her eyes kept flicking toward the hall. She heard everything, so did I. “Yes… Emma’s proffer went clean." Scarlett said. "They’re locking the agreement today… No, Calista’s under watch but they haven’t moved publicly yet. They’re trying to keep the full weight of what Emma gave them from leaking until the supporting records are nailed down… Konrad’s still one step behind formal inclusion. Ashfield said we’ll know very soon whether they can bring him in properly.” "Uncle Spence," Aiden nudged my knee harder than necessary. “Frames.” “Forty-two,” I said, my eyes stayed on the screen but my attention didn’t. “Forty-three.” Scarlett hung up and came into the living room and stopped in the doorway, pho
Calista's POV I sat very still on the sofa, the phone dark in my lap, the message from Reid’s associate still burned into the screen even after it went black. Do not leave the country. My thumb hovered over the contacts. Nicholas. I stared at his name for a long time before I finally pressed it. The phone rang against my ear. Once. Twice. The sound was too loud in the empty room. Four times. Voicemail. His recorded voice came on, short and formal, the version he used for people he didn’t want to talk to. I hung up without speaking and lowered the phone. My hands were shaking. I could feel the shaking in my fingers against the glass. I tried again and got the same ringing, same voicemail, same dead air afterward. I stood up and walked to the window. Outside the light had gone thin and gray. I could see my own reflection faintly in the glass, hair pulled back too tight, face pale, eyes too wide. I looked like someone who had already lost and hadn’t admitted it yet. I dialed Emma'







