Chapter 2 - The Hospital Room
The press was already gathering outside Saint Jude’s Chapel by the time my father brought his truck around to the side entrance. Society reporters in Nashville moved like vultures, and a cancelled wedding involving the wealthy Miller development dynasty was prime meat.
I had stripped off my heavy veil and tossed it into the church trash can, but I hadn't had time to change out of the ivory dress. I sat in the back seat of my father’s Ford F-150 with Lily on my left and Leo on my right. Leo had his little thumb tucked into his mouth, his head resting heavily against my silk-clad hip.
"Claire," my father said softly, watching me in the rearview mirror as he navigated the afternoon traffic toward Vanderbilt Medical Center. "Are you sure about this? We can go home. Your mother and I can handle the guests and the hall rentals."
"No, Dad," I replied, my voice steady despite the numbness creeping through my limbs. "If what that letter says is true, there is a dying woman sitting in a hospital room right now who spent her final strength sending her children to save me. I'm going to see her."
When we arrived at Ward 4, the hospital corridor smelled of antiseptic and ozone. A nurse at the station looked up in shock as a bride in a full ballgown walked down the hallway holding two little kids by the hand.
"Room 412?" I asked quietly.
The nurse swallowed hard, her eyes shifting from my dress to Lily's face. "She's... she's very weak today, dear. Are you family?"
"I'm the woman who was supposed to marry their father an hour ago," I said.
The nurse sighed, her expression softening into deep sympathy. She pointed down the hall. "Last door on the left."
I pushed the door open gently. The room was dark, illuminated only by the rhythmic green blips of the heart monitor. In the center of the room sat a bed, and in it lay the woman from the photograph.
Hannah Vance was gaunt, her skin translucent, her dark chestnut hair thin and dry. But when the door clicked, her eyes fluttered open. When she saw her children, a momentary spark of life returned to her face.
"Lily... Leo..." she rasped, trying to push herself up.
"Mommy!" Lily cried out, running to the bedside, though she was remarkably careful not to touch the IV lines attached to her mother's wrist.
Hannah pulled her children close, kissing their foreheads, before her tired eyes lifted to me. She froze, staring at my wedding dress.
"You... you came," Hannah whispered, her voice trembling. "You're Claire."
"I'm Claire," I said, stepping closer and pulled a visitor's chair next to her bed. I reached out and took her frail, cold hand in mine. "I read your letter, Hannah."
Tears trickled down Hannah’s hollow cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Claire. I ruined your wedding day. I didn't know what else to do. Patricia blocked my number. James changed his phone... I was running out of time."
"You didn't ruin my day, Hannah," I said, leaning in so she could hear me clearly over the hum of the monitors. "You saved my life. You stopped me from marrying a coward and a monster."
Hannah let out a ragged breath, squeezing my fingers with the little strength she had left. "He seemed so wonderful when I met him... so gentle. But his mother... Patricia controls everything. When James realized having children would lose him his inheritance from his grandfather's trust, he let his mother buy me off."
"I know," I whispered. "That sounds exactly like Patricia Miller."
Suddenly, the heavy door to Room 412 slammed open against the wall.
Patricia Miller stood in the doorway, her designer suit disheveled, her face flushed with fury. Behind her stood two men in sharp black suits carrying leather briefcases—the Miller family's senior legal counsel.
"Get away from that woman, Claire!" Patricia hissed, stepping into the room. "You have no legal standing here! And as for you, Hannah—" Patricia pointed an accusatory finger at the bed "—you breached your signed non-disclosure agreement. That fifty thousand dollars came with a legally binding gag order. You just destroyed my family’s public standing!"
I stood up slowly, stepping between Patricia and Hannah’s hospital bed. The sheer volume of my wedding dress seemed to fill the narrow space, blocking Patricia entirely.
"Patricia," I said, my voice echoing with an authority I hadn't known I possessed. "If you take one more step toward this woman or these children, I will call the press corps currently standing on the steps of Saint Jude’s and invite every single one of them up to this room."
Patricia stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth opening in shock. "Claire... don't be ridiculous. You're upset. James is downstairs in the car! He wants to apologize! We can fix this!"
"Fix this?" I laughed bitterly. "You paid off a pregnant twenty-two-year-old and threatened her with child separation. You left your own grandchildren to rot in poverty while you spent forty thousand dollars on flowers for my wedding!"
"They aren't my grandchildren!" Patricia spat, dropping her polished mask completely. "They are the product of a mistake my son made before he grew up! I did what any mother would do to protect her family’s legacy!"
"Then your legacy is garbage," I said coldly.
One of the attorneys behind Patricia cleared his throat nervously. "Mrs. Miller... perhaps we should step outside. The media—"
"Shut up, Arthur!" Patricia barked. She glared at me, her eyes burning with hatred. "You think you're clever, Claire? You're a high school history teacher! Your family has nothing! If you think you can fight us in court over custody or public defamation, we will drain your bank accounts until you don't even have a house to live in."
"Try me," I said.
Before Patricia could reply, Hannah reached out from the bed and grabbed the hem of my dress.
"Claire..." Hannah gasped, her heart monitor suddenly beep-beeping at an alarming rate. "The... the desk drawer..."
May you like
I turned quickly, ignoring Patricia, and opened the bedside nightstand drawer. Inside was a thick, yellowed envelope sealed with a blue rubber band.
"Take it..." Hannah whispered, her breathing becoming dangerously shallow. "It’s not... it’s not just about the kids... It’s about how James got the development company..."
