Chapter 394
[ 507 words ]
Chapter 394:
It was too much. Caroline felt a pang of something uncomfortable. This level of retribution felt… wrong. It was a sledgehammer to kill a fly. Melanie deserved to be punished, but this was utter destruction.
She gently tugged on the sleeve of Jarrod’s shirt. A small, silent signal. Enough.
He felt the light pressure and glanced down at her. He saw the plea in her eyes, the faint unease. She didn’t want this. Not like this. She didn’t want him to become a tyrant for her sake.
The hard, vengeful set of his jaw softened almost imperceptibly. The fire in his eyes banked. He had made his point.
He gave Finchley a dismissive wave. “See to it.”
Finchley looked as if he’d just been granted a royal pardon. “Yes, Colonel. Thank you, Colonel.” He practically scurried away down the hall.
The corridor was quiet again. Jarrod looked down at Caroline, a wry, slightly exasperated expression on his face. “You’re too soft on them.”
“I don’t want you to be that person for me,” she said quietly. “The one who burns everything down.”
He pulled her into his arms, right there in the middle of the hallway. He rested his chin on the top of her head, his voice a low murmur against her hair. “For you,” he said, “I would burn down the world.”
They continued down the hall toward the specialized neuro-oncology unit where Donovan had been moved. The air of crisis had passed, replaced by a fragile, tentative peace. But Jarrod noticed the worry hadn’t completely left Caroline’s face.
“Stop stewing over the logistics,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I’ve already secured the best private specialists for your father’s recovery, as I promised. There is no need for further concern regarding the medical overhead.”
W𝘩𝖺𝘁 е𝗏е𝗋𝘆𝘰𝘯e 𝗶𝗌 𝘳e𝗮𝖽𝗂𝘯𝗀 𝗈n 𝗴𝗮𝗹𝘯о𝘷𝗲𝘭𝘴.cо𝗆
Caroline stopped walking, her expression tightening. “I know what you’ve done, Jarrod, and I appreciate the resources. But the arrangement for his specific treatment protocol… it’s highly specialized and tied to the clinic that diagnosed him. It’s non-transferable.”
He stared at her, the pieces not adding up. “The Thompson family savings couldn’t possibly cover this level of long-term care. I checked. So where did the supplemental funding come from, Caroline?”
The question she had been dreading had finally arrived. There was no more deflecting, no more hiding.
She leaned back against the cool wall of the corridor, her gaze drifting to a point somewhere over his shoulder. She needed to tell him a piece of the truth before the rest of it blew up in their faces.
“It’s not from the Thompsons,” she said quietly. “Jarrod… there’s something you need to know about the financing.”
She took a deep breath. “Walter Thompson—the man who raised me—was a saint, but he wasn’t my biological father. My mother was already pregnant with me when they married. He knew everything, and he chose to be my father regardless.”
Jarrod’s expression softened with understanding, a dawning realization of the complex loyalty that had defined her upbringing. He took a step toward her, his arms starting to open to pull her into a comforting embrace.
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