Chapter 2 - THE MAN BEHIND THE GLASS
Within twenty minutes, the waiting room changed.
Men arrived.
One after another.
Black coats.
Expensive watches.
Silent expressions.
The Carter family had discovered Chloe existed.
I wanted to leave.
But Dr. Winters stopped me.
"Natasha, David needs the transfusion."
I looked toward the ICU.
"And if I say no?"
"He probably won't survive."
The words hurt.
I hated David.
At least, I had told myself I did.
But I couldn't stand there and watch a man die when my daughter's blood could save him.
"How much does she have to give?"
"Only what is medically safe."
I nodded.
"Then do it."
Chloe looked at me.
"Am I helping the sick man?"
"Yes."
"Will it hurt?"
"A little."
She nodded bravely.
"I can handle it."
I kissed her forehead.
"You shouldn't have to."
While nurses prepared her, I sat alone.
Michael approached.
"You need to explain."
"I don't owe you anything."
"You just walked into a Carter hospital with a child who has my brother's blood profile."
"It's not your concern."
He leaned closer.
"Everything involving David is my concern."
I stared at him.
"Then ask your brother."
His expression hardened.
"He can't exactly answer questions right now."
"Then wait."
Michael studied me.
"You disappeared eight years ago."
"I moved."
"Without telling David."
"Yes."
"Why?"
I looked away.
"Because I had to."
He was quiet.
Then he asked:
"Did David know you were pregnant?"
"No."
"Does Chloe know who her father is?"
"No."
His jaw tightened.
"Why?"
"Because I wanted her safe."
Michael looked toward the treatment room.
"From him?"
"From his world."
He didn't argue.
That surprised me.
Instead, he sat across from me.
"You think David would hurt his own daughter?"
"I don't know."
"But you know him."
"I knew a man who loved me."
Michael's expression softened slightly.
"What happened?"
I laughed without humor.
"His family happened."
Eight years earlier, I had met David Carter at a charity gala.
I hadn't known who he was.
He had approached me because I was standing alone near the balcony.
We talked for hours.
He made me laugh.
He listened.
He told me he wanted a different life.
I believed him.
For six months, we were inseparable.
Then his older brother was murdered.
David changed.
The warmth disappeared.
He became guarded.
Danger followed him everywhere.
One night, I found blood on his shirt.
He wouldn't explain.
I asked him to leave the life.
He said he couldn't.
I asked him to choose me.
He couldn't.
So I left.
Three weeks later, I discovered I was pregnant.
I sent him one letter.
I never sent another.
Because the day after I mailed it, two men followed me home.
They didn't touch me.
They didn't have to.
One simply said:
"Mr. Carter doesn't need distractions."
I understood the message.
I disappeared.
Now, eight years later, David was dying.
And our daughter was saving him.
The transfusion began.
Chloe lay quietly beneath a blanket.
I watched her.
She looked so small.
A nurse smiled.
"She's very brave."
"She always has been."
Then the ICU doors opened.
A surgeon stepped out.
"He's responding."
My knees nearly gave out.
"He's going to live?"
"If everything continues like this, yes."
I closed my eyes.
Relief.
Guilt.
Anger.
Everything collided.
Then the surgeon added:
"He keeps asking for you."
I froze.
"He's conscious?"
"Briefly."
Michael stood.
"Can she see him?"
The surgeon looked at me.
"Five minutes."
I didn't want to go.
But I did.
The ICU room was dark.
Machines surrounded David.
He looked nothing like the man I remembered.
Pale.
Bruised.
Weak.
But his eyes opened.
Blue.
The same blue Chloe had.
He stared at me.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then his voice came out rough.
"Natasha?"
I swallowed.
"Hello, David."
He tried to sit up.
Pain stopped him.
"You came."
"Your doctors called."
His eyes searched my face.
"Why?"
I almost told him.
Then I remembered Chloe.
"Because someone needed help."
His eyes narrowed.
"Who?"
I couldn't answer.
He noticed the hesitation.
Then his gaze moved toward the glass wall.
Chloe was standing outside with a nurse.
David looked at her.
His entire body became still.
"Who is that?"
I stepped between them.
"My daughter."
He stared.
"How old?"
"Eight."
His eyes moved back to mine.
Eight.
He did the math.
I watched realization begin.
"No."
His voice broke.
"Natasha..."
I said nothing.
"Is she mine?"
Silence.
Then he whispered:
"Is that my daughter?"
I closed my eyes.
Eight years of secrets had ended.
I opened them.
"Yes."
David stared through the glass.
May you like
Chloe waved.
And for the first time since I had known him, the most feared man in Chicago looked completely helpless.
