Chapter 18 - The Ghost of ClevelandTwo weeks after the gala, amid the freezing serenity of a New York snowstorm, a secure envelope arrived from Cleveland Memorial Hospital.
It wasn't a bill, and it wasn't a warning.
I sat alone in the private study adjoining the master suite, slicing open the heavy paper with a silver letter opener. Inside was a handwritten note from my mother’s lead cardiologist, Dr. Vance (no relation to the underworld, thankfully), along with a photo.
The photo showed my mother, Ellen, sitting propped up in a sunlit armchair by her hospital room window, smiling brightly, holding a bouquet of fresh yellow roses, her cheeks flushed with genuine, healthy color.
“Dear Elena,
Your mother’s post-operative recovery has exceeded every medical expectation. Her new heart valve is functioning perfectly, and she took her first unassisted walk down the hospital corridor this morning. She talks about you constantly, wondering when her busy, successful daughter will come visit her in Ohio. Tell your husband he runs a marvelous hospital network—though I still think he works you entirely too hard!
Warmly, Dr. Marcus.”
A single tear slipped down my cheek, but it wasn't a tear of sadness. It was the final, sweet release of a burden I had carried on my shoulders since I was a teenager.
My mother was safe. Her heart was strong. Her future was secure.
The door to the study opened quietly, and Dominic stepped inside, carrying two cups of steaming coffee. He took one look at the photograph in my hand and the tear on my cheek, and his expression softened instantly.
He walked over, set the mugs down on the desk, and pulled me up from my chair into his arms, resting his chin gently against the top of my head.
“She looks happy,” Dominic murmured.
May you like
“She is,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around his waist, burying my face against his chest. “Because of you.”
“Because of us,” Dominic corrected softly.
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