Chapter 3 - The Fragility of Secrets
The waiting room of the hospital was an exercise in purgatory. The smell of disinfectant and stale coffee clung to the air, and the hum of the fluorescent lights seemed to match the erratic beat of Griffin’s heart.
The twins were asleep on his shoulders, one on each side, their breathing soft and rhythmic. He hadn't moved for hours, sitting in a plastic chair that dug into his back, his muscles stiffening but refusing to shift lest he wake them.
He had spent the hours in the back of the ambulance and the ER waiting room listening. Listening to the doctors talk about "aneurysm," "stress-induced," "potential hemorrhage." Every word felt like a stab wound.
Sloan was in surgery. They were trying to stabilize the bleeding in her brain.
His phone buzzed—a constant, infuriating stream of notifications from his office, his board members, his assistant. He swiped them all away, his attention entirely focused on the door through which the doctor would eventually emerge.
Finally, the double doors pushed open. A weary-looking neurosurgeon stepped out, rubbing his eyes.
"Family of Sloan Callaway?"
Griffin stood, carefully disentangling himself from the girls. They stirred but didn't wake. He walked over to the surgeon.
"I'm Griffin Drake. She’s... she’s the mother of my children. Tell me."
The surgeon looked at him, his gaze professional and guarded. "We managed to stop the bleeding, Mr. Drake. It was a ruptured aneurysm, very sudden. It’s a miracle the girls called when they did. She’s critical but stable. The next twenty-four hours are the most important. If she survives the night without further complications, her prognosis is... cautiously optimistic."
Griffin let out a breath he felt he’d been holding for ten years. "Can I see her?"
"Briefly. She's in the ICU. Only you."
Griffin nodded and followed the surgeon, his footsteps echoing in the corridor. When he walked into the ICU, the sight of her nearly brought him to his knees again. She was hooked up to a dozen different machines, a ventilator breathing for her, her hair shaved back near her temple.
She looked so small.
He walked to her bedside and took her hand—the same hand that had drafted blueprints, the same hand that had held their children, the same hand that had written the voicemail that changed his life.
"Sloan," he whispered.
She didn't respond, but her fingers twitched.
"You idiot," he said, his voice breaking. "You thought you could hide them from me? You thought you could carry the weight of the world by yourself?"
He leaned in, his forehead resting against the edge of the bed. "I'm not letting you go. Not this time. We’re going to figure this out. Even if I have to buy this hospital and every doctor in it, you are going to wake up."
He stayed there for an hour, talking to her, telling her about his life, his regrets, his empty home, and his sudden, overwhelming purpose. He didn't care if she could hear him; he just needed her to know that he was there.
When he finally walked back out to the waiting room, he found the twins awake, their eyes wide and searching.
"Is she okay?" Hazel asked.
Griffin knelt in front of them, his hands on their shoulders. "She’s fighting. She’s the strongest person I’ve ever met. And we’re going to be here when she wakes up."
"Are you our daddy?" Iris asked again, her voice smaller this time.
Griffin looked at them. Really looked at them. He saw the pain in their eyes, the fear, the confusion. He saw the life that Sloan had built for them, the love she had clearly poured into them.
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"I think," Griffin said, his voice thick with emotion, "that I have been your daddy for a very long time, even if I didn't know it. And I'm going to spend every single day for the rest of my life making sure you never have to wonder again."
He pulled them into a hug—a hug so tight it felt like he was stitching his broken life back together.
