Chapter 359
[ 457 words ]
Chapter 359:
“Caroline,” he breathed. “You came.”
She didn’t move closer. She stood by the door, her arms crossed over her chest. “You put me down as your next of kin. We’ve met once.”
A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. “Once was enough.”
“I’m not here because I’ve changed my mind about you,” Caroline said, her voice hard. “I’m here because you have a tumor that needs to be removed, and apparently, I’m the only person who can sign the consent forms.”
“That’s more than I expected.” He paused, his eyes searching her face. “I know I have no right to ask anything of you. But I want you to know—everything I have, everything I’ve built, it’s yours. When I’m gone.”
Caroline stiffened. “I don’t want your money.”
𝖯𝘰𝗽𝘂𝗅𝘢𝗋 𝘀𝘵𝘰𝗿i𝗲𝗌 𝘰n g𝖺𝗹𝗇𝘰𝗏е𝘭s.𝘤o𝘮
“I know,” he said softly. “But I want you to have it anyway. Not as payment. Not as an apology. Just… as a father.”
The word hung in the air between them, heavy and complicated. Caroline felt a surge of conflicting emotions—anger, pity, grief, and something else. Something that might have been the faintest glimmer of understanding.
“Let’s just get through the surgery,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “We can talk about the rest later. Maybe.”
It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t acceptance. But it was a beginning.
Donovan closed his eyes, and for the first time since she’d entered the room, he looked at peace.
The surgery was scheduled for the next morning. Caroline signed the forms, her signature feeling like a betrayal of her father’s memory even as her nurse’s training told her she was doing the right thing. She walked out of the hospital and into the cold night air, her mind a storm of confusion.
She was halfway to her car when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and saw a text from Julian Croft.
Caroline—I heard you were at Washington General today. Is everything okay? I tried to catch you after your shift at United but they said you’d already left. If you need to talk, I’m here.
Caroline stared at the screen. Julian was still at Washington United, working the brutal shifts she knew all too well. But he had reached out across the distance between their hospitals, across the complicated history of his failed confession and her mother’s death on his operating table. The concern in his message was genuine, and it tugged at something raw inside her.
She typed back a quick reply: Family matter. I’m handling it. Thank you for checking in.
His response came almost immediately. I know things have been complicated between us. I know I crossed a line I shouldn’t have crossed. But I meant what I said—I care about you. Whatever is going on, you don’t have to face it alone.
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