Chapter 451

[ 1,094 words ]

Julian’s POV

I was halfway through a quarterly review when the phone rang.

The conference was in my study; video links opened across three screens, two board members speaking over each other about projected margins in the Asian markets. Zane sat across from me with a folder open, making quiet notes. The rain still hammered the windows behind the desk. I had checked my messages an hour earlier. Katia had not texted that she had arrived at the office. I told myself the weather was slowing everyone down.

The private line lit up.

I almost let it go to voicemail. Then I saw the hospital prefix and answered.

“Can I please speak to Mr. Windsor p>

“This is Julian Windsor p>

There was a short pause, the kind people take when they are about to deliver something that cannot be softened.

“Mr. Windsor, your wife was involved in a serious car accident. She is in critical condition. She was brought to p>

The rest of the address washed over me in fragments. I heard the name of the hospital. I heard “critical.” I heard “unresponsive at the scene.” Everything else became noise.

“What?” The word came out sharp enough that Zane’s head snapped up.

The voice on the line repeated the hospital name more carefully and began listing what little they could share over the phone. I was already on my feet. The chair scraped hard against the floor. On the screens, one of the board members was still talking. I ended the call without answering him.

“Julian—” Zane started.

“Katia was in an accident.” My voice sounded strange in my own ears. “Critical. I need the car. Now p>

I was dialing Grandma Celeste before I reached the door. She answered on the second ring, calm the way she always was when something had already gone wrong.

“Julian p>

“Katia’s been in a crash. They’re saying critical. I’m going to the hospital; they took her to the medical offices of Manhattan—Upper East Side. I want her moved to our hospital. Immediately. Call whoever you need to call p>

There was only the briefest silence.

“I’ll handle the transfer,” she said. “Go. I’ll meet you there p>

I hung up and took the stairs two at a time. Rain still sheeted down outside. The driver already had the car running by the time I reached the garage. Zane had followed me out. He didn’t ask permission to come. He simply got in on the other side.

The drive passed in a blur of wet streets and red lights I barely registered. My hands stayed locked together in my lap so no one would see them shaking. Every few minutes my mind offered the same useless loop: she left after breakfast, she said she would text, the roads were bad, and I should have made her stay home. None of it changed the fact that I was not with her when the car went off the road.

I kept seeing her in the kitchen that morning. The way she had stolen a piece of Aiden’s toast. The quiet kiss before she left. The small curve of her stomach under her blouse when I rested my hands on her waist. I had told her to drive carefully. She had almost smiled at the warning.

Critical.

The word sat in my chest like a stone.

When we reached the first hospital, the transfer was already in motion. Grandma Celeste’s name and the weight of the Windsor system moved faster than most people expected. I barely stepped into the emergency bay before a nurse told me they were preparing her for transport. I was not allowed in the trauma bay. I stood in a corridor that smelled of disinfectant and rain-damp coats and listened to the distant sound of wheels and low voices.

Zane stayed beside me without speaking. At some point he put a paper cup of water in my hand. I didn’t drink it.

The ambulance ride to the Windsor hospital passed in more rain and the steady rise and fall of equipment sounds I tried not to interpret. I followed the gurney as far as they would let me, then was directed to a private waiting area that felt too clean and too quiet. Grandma Celeste arrived minutes later, coat still damp at the shoulders. She took one look at my face and simply stood with me.

Time stopped behaving properly after that.

I paced. I sat. I stood again. Every time the door to the corridor opened, my whole body tensed. Doctors and nurses passed without stopping. Somewhere down the hall a phone rang and was answered. I kept checking the time on my phone and finding that only a few minutes had moved.

I thought about Aiden still at school, not knowing. I thought about the baby she was carrying. I thought about the possibility that I had kissed her goodbye that morning and would not get another chance. The thought made it hard to breathe in a steady way.

Grandma Celeste eventually made me sit. She didn’t offer empty comfort. She simply stayed present, the same way she had through every other crisis this family had survived. I was grateful for the lack of soft words. Soft words would have broken something I was barely holding together.

When the door finally opened again, a doctor in scrubs stepped into the room. Middle-aged. Tired eyes. He looked first at me, then at Grandma Celeste, as if confirming he had the right people.

“Mr. Windsor p>

I was on my feet before he finished the name.

“Your wife is stable,” he said. “We were able to address the immediate injuries from the impact. She’s going to be all right p>

The relief hit so hard my vision briefly narrowed. I had to lock my knees to stay upright.

“She’s fine?” The question came out rough.

“She’s stable,” he repeated carefully. “There are some injuries we’ll continue to monitor—bruising, a mild concussion, soft-tissue damage from the seatbelt and airbag—but she is out of immediate danger. You should be able to see her soon p>

I nodded once, already moving past the list of injuries toward the only other question that mattered.

“And the baby p>

The doctor’s expression changed. Confusion first, then something close to alarm.

“She’s pregnant p>

“Yes.” My voice sharpened. “Three months. Is the baby all right p>

He stared at me for a fraction of a second too long.

“Oh my god. I was so focused on saving her—” He turned back toward the door immediately. “Let me go inside to check on her p>

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