The Familiar Stranger

Chapter Four

Damien Ashbourne walked through the fourth floor with the hospital director beside him, his pace unhurried but purposeful. Every few steps he stopped to glance into another ward, another treatment room, another nurses’ station. He asked few questions, but each one landed with enough precision to make the director hesitate before answering.

“The dialysis unit has reduced waiting times by nineteen percent,” the director said, gesturing toward the renovated wing. “Patient satisfaction has also improved significantly since the Foundation’s first grant.”

Damien’s gaze drifted over the room before settling briefly on a maintenance checklist pinned to the wall. “When was that last updated?”

The director followed his eyes. “Yesterday.”

“It says this morning.”

The director looked again, caught himself, then gave an awkward smile. “I’ll have it corrected.”

Damien looked away. The inspection moved on.

A few doors ahead, inside Room 412, Elena had forgotten he was even in the building. Her attention was fixed entirely on her mother. The lunch tray sat barely touched on the bedside table. Elena picked up the bowl, stirred the soup gently, and lifted another spoonful.

“One more.”

Camila looked at her over the rim of the blanket. “You’ve been saying ‘one more’ for the last fifteen minutes.”

“And you’ve been arguing with me for all fifteen.”

A faint smile touched her mother’s lips. “I raised a stubborn daughter.”

“If making you eat is stubborn, then I’ll gladly be stubborn.”

Camila accepted another spoonful. Elena’s phone vibrated on the bedside table. She ignored it. The phone buzzed again. Camila nodded toward it.

“You should answer.”

“It can wait.”

“What if it can’t?”

Elena sighed, wiped her hands with a tissue, and picked up the phone. Belle Maison Bridal. She hesitated before answering.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon, Miss Hart. We’re calling to confirm your final gown fitting tomorrow. The alterations have been completed.”

Elena glanced at the calendar hanging beside the window. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Wonderful. We’ll see you then.”

The call ended. Camila looked over at her daughter. “The dress?”

Elena managed a small smile. “They just wanted to confirm the fitting.”

Her mother reached for her hand. “You’ve spent so much time worrying about me.” Her voice was tired but warm. “I don’t want you forgetting that you’re becoming a bride.”

Camila’s eyes dropped to Elena’s hand. “You’re wearing it already.”

Elena glanced at the ring on her finger. “The engagement ring?”

“What else?” Camila smiled. “It’s strange.”

“What is?”

“That little girl who used to come home with mud all over her dress is getting married.”

Elena laughed softly. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“You once climbed a mango tree in your best dress.”

“I was seven.”

“And your father had to climb after you.”

“That was his fault for putting the tree there.”

Camila laughed, then settled back against her pillow. “I wish he’d been here to see this.”

The smile on Elena’s face softened. “He would’ve made the whole wedding about himself.”

“He would’ve cried.”

“He definitely would’ve cried.”

“And denied it afterward.”

They laughed together. For a few seconds neither said anything. Then Camila turned toward her. A light cough escaped her before she cleared her throat.

“What colour are the flowers?”

“White.”

“Too plain.”

“Mama.”

“You need colour. Something warm. Red, maybe.”

“Red?”

“Just a little. Not enough to make the place look like a Valentine’s Day party.” Camila reached for her hand again. “When you walk down that aisle, don’t look at the guests.”

Elena narrowed her eyes playfully. “Why?”

“Look at Ethan. Because everyone else will be watching you. You should have one moment that belongs only to the two of you.”

Elena’s smile lingered. “And where will you be?”

Camila gave her a look. “Where I always am.”

“Where?”

“Making sure you don’t trip over your dress.”

Elena burst out laughing. “Mama!”

“I’m serious. That dress is probably longer than you are.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re getting married.” Camila squeezed her hand. “So let me enjoy it.”

Elena looked at her mother, smiling. “Fine.”

“Good.” Camila settled against her pillow, satisfied. “And make sure they save me a piece of the cake.”

Elena laughed again. “You’re more interested in the cake than the wedding.”

“Of course I am. I’m your mother. I’ve already seen the groom.”

That gave Elena another laugh.

Another light cough escaped Camila before she cleared her throat. “I’ve been waiting for this day much longer than you have. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Elena picked up the bowl again. “Then you’d better finish your lunch.”

Camila obediently opened her mouth for another spoonful. She swallowed. A cough caught unexpectedly in her throat. Then another.

“Mama…” Elena set the bowl down at once and slipped an arm behind her shoulders. “Easy.”

The coughing grew stronger. She reached quickly for the glass of water on the bedside table while supporting her mother’s shoulders with her other arm. The movement caught the edge of the bowl. It tipped. Soup spilled across the blanket before the bowl slipped from her fingers and shattered against the floor.

The sharp crack echoed into the corridor. Several heads turned.

So did Damien’s.

Inside the room, Elena barely noticed the noise she’d caused. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, brushing the warm soup away from the blanket before taking the glass again. “Here… slowly.”

Camila took a careful sip, the coughing easing little by little. “There you go.”

Only after her mother had settled did Elena crouch to gather the broken pieces of porcelain. As she reached beneath the chair, her cardigan sleeve slipped back. A pale scar traced the inside of her wrist.

Damien stopped. The hospital director’s voice faded somewhere behind him. He stared at the scar. For a moment he couldn’t breathe.

Rain against glass.

A child’s fingers wrapped around his.

Something cold pressed into his palm.

Then a voice,"Don’t let go." 

Damien blinked. The corridor snapped back into focus—the fluorescent lights, the polished floor, the quiet beeping from the ward. His hand had tightened around the file so hard that the edge had bent beneath his fingers.

“Mr. Ashbourne?”

He released it slowly. Elena was still on the floor, gathering the broken porcelain. Her mother was watching her, unaware of the man standing beyond the doorway. He stared at her wrist for another second before pulling his attention away.

“I’m fine.” The answer came too quickly. He straightened his jacket. “Continue.”

He resumed walking. The director kept talking, but Damien didn’t hear a word.

---

The inspection ended nearly an hour later. The convoy eased out of St. Mary’s and merged into the afternoon traffic. Buildings drifted past the tinted windows while Damien sat in silence, one elbow resting against the armrest.

His assistant glanced at her tablet. “The Harper Industries documents have been revised. They’re waiting for your approval before close of business.”

No response.

She looked up. “Sir?”

Damien’s eyes remained on the window. For a moment he saw only his own reflection. Then, just as quickly—rain, a frightened child, a hand reaching for him. Gone again. He closed his eyes briefly, annoyed that the memory kept slipping away before it became whole.

“The girl,” he said at last.

His assistant looked up. “Sir?”

“The one in Ward 412. Find out who she is.”

A brief pause settled between them. His assistant nodded. “I’ll have it for you before the end of the day.”

Damien looked out the window. His fingers brushed unconsciously against the old scar hidden beneath his watch.

“Sir?”

He looked up. “Find out everything you can about that lady.”

His assistant nodded. “Everything?”

Damien’s eyes returned to the window. “Everything.”

She hesitated before asking, “Is there a reason?”

Damien’s fingers tightened around his wrist. He didn’t answer.

He didn’t know the reason himself.