Chapter 2 - Cold Coffee and Unspoken Truths
By 3:00 AM, Toby had drifted back into a narcotic-induced sleep. The nurse, a soft-spoken woman named Sarah, stepped into the room to adjust the IV drip, casting a cautious look at Marcus before slipping out.
The room returned to its suffocating stillness.
Elena slowly pushed herself up from the plastic chair. Her white button-down shirt was wrinkled, stained with hospital antiseptic and faint dried droplets from Toby’s damp hair. She turned toward the window.
"You didn't touch him," Elena said, her voice barely louder than a whisper, yet sharp enough to cut.
Marcus kept his eyes fixed on the distant highway headlights. "The doctors said he needs rest. Crowding him increases agitation."
"Crowding him?" Elena walked until she stood three feet behind him. She looked at his broad back, the back that had carried companies through hostile takeovers, but couldn't bend to hold a child’s hand. "He asked if we could stop waiting for you, Marcus. He was lying on the tarmac on Michigan Avenue, bleeding under a stranger’s raincoat, and even now, with you standing five feet away, he thinks you aren't here."
Marcus turned his head slightly, his profile carved out of shadow. "I authorized the pediatric neurosurgery team from Northwestern. I ensured he has the chief of orthopedic surgery. I did what was necessary."
"You bought safety," Elena countered, her voice trembling with restrained fury. "You always write a check when your heart is required. He doesn't need your board of directors, Marcus. He needed his father to squeeze his hand and tell him he wasn't going to die."
Marcus finally turned. His eyes, usually fierce and calculating, looked bloodshot and hollow. "And what if I touched him and broke him, Elena? What if I looked him in the eye and he saw that I couldn't stop that cab from hitting him?"
Elena paused, shocked by the ragged crack in his voice.
May you like
"You think I'm cold?" Marcus took a step forward, his chest heaving silently. "Every time I look at that bed, I see his neck snapping against the bumper. I can't breathe in this room."
"Then learn to breathe through the pain," Elena said softly, stepping closer. "Because he is six years old, and he cannot carry yours."
