Chapter 237
“Just be ready,” she said, looking back at the screen. “Tomorrow, Mommy is going to fight the monsters. And I might need some magic.”
“We got you, Mom,” Aron said.
Cailin ended the call. She held the dark screen for a moment, her thumb resting where Elia’s face had been.
Tomorrow. It ended tomorrow.
The lobby of Mount Sinai Hospital had been transformed into a grotesque theater.
A podium stood in front of the donor wall — the Holloway Wing donor wall, by a cruel twist of irony. Dozens of reporters jostled for position, their cameras raised like weapons.
Charla sat in a wheelchair at center stage, dressed in a pale, oversized cardigan designed to make her look frail and small. Her bandaged hand rested prominently across her lap. Victoria stood behind her, dabbing at her eyes. Gregg occupied one side, his expression arranged into a portrait of solemn grief.
Hilliard sat in the front row, legs crossed, face impassive. He ignored the reporters shouting at him from every direction.
“Mr. Holloway! Do you stand by your fiancée?”
“Is it true the attacker is your ex-wife?”
Hilliard checked his watch. 1:00 PM.
At exactly 2:00 PM, the double doors at the back of the lobby swung open.
The room went silent.
Cailin walked in.
She was not wearing the humble, gray penitent’s clothes Charla had clearly anticipated. She was wearing the red suit. It blazed against the sterile white of the hospital like a lit match in a dark room. Her hair was pulled back severely, her makeup precise and sharp, expertly concealing the shadows beneath her eyes. She didn’t look like a defendant. She looked like a CEO arriving to announce a hostile takeover.
Ashley followed one step behind, carrying a laptop case. Two of Kegan’s lawyers flanked them on either side.
“She’s here!” a reporter shouted. Flashbulbs erupted across the lobby like a lightning storm.
Charla’s eyes narrowed. She leaned into the microphone.
“Thank you for coming,” Charla said, her voice soft and breathy. “I invited Ms. Morton here because I believe in forgiveness. Even after she tried to kill me.”
Victoria let out a loud, heaving sob. “My poor baby!”
Cailin walked directly to the podium. She winced almost imperceptibly as her injured shoulder caught the edge of a reporter — a sharp reminder that the only thing holding her together right now was painkillers and sheer will. She didn’t wait for permission. She stepped up beside Charla, towering over the wheelchair.
“You invited me here for an apology,” Cailin said, her voice steady and clear in the microphone. “But I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“You pushed me!” Charla cried, jabbing her good hand toward Cailin. “Admit it! You were jealous!”
“Jealous?” Cailin looked down at her. “Of what, exactly? A fake engagement ring and a stolen life?”
“You’re a monster!” Victoria lunged forward. “You hurt my daughter!”
One of Kegan’s security guards stepped smoothly in front of her, blocking her path without a word.