Chapter 9
He’d cut off his ankle monitor.
Escaped house arrest.
Somehow gotten past hospital security.
He walked into the room, closing the door softly behind him.
He held a gun in his right hand.
A small silver revolver.
His face was gaunt.
Eyes wild.
Hair a mess.
“Emily,” he whispered. “I had to see him. I had to see my son.”
Emily’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it would burst out of her chest.
Henry slept on, curled up in the bassinet next to the bed, completely unaware.
“Preston,” she said, keeping her voice as calm as she could. “Put the gun down. Please. You don’t want to do this.”
Preston laughed, a high, crazy sound.
“Don’t I? You took everything from me. My dad. My job. My money. My son. I have nothing left. Nothing.”
He walked closer to the bed, the gun pointing at the floor now, but still in his hand.
“I just want to hold him,” he said. “Just for a minute. He’s my son. I have a right to hold him—”
“No,” Emily said, sliding out of bed, putting herself between Preston and the bassinet. “You lost that right the day you watched Vanessa kick me. The day you planned for me to miscarry. You are not touching him.”
Preston’s face twisted into rage.
“He’s mine!” he screamed, raising the gun. “You can’t keep him from me! I’d rather kill us all than let you raise him to hate me—”
The door burst open.
Raymond ran in, followed by two security guards.
“Preston, drop the gun!” Raymond yelled, stepping in front of Emily.
Preston spun around, the gun pointing at Raymond now.
“Get out of my way!” he screamed. “This is family business—”
A shot rang out.
Deafening.
Emily screamed.
Raymond stumbled back, grabbing his shoulder.
Blood seeped through his shirt.
“Uncle Raymond!” Emily shrieked.
Preston stood there, gun still raised, eyes wide, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.
“I—I didn’t mean to,” he stammered. “It went off—”
“Drop it, Preston!” one of the guards yelled, pulling his own gun.
More security poured into the room.
Nurses.
Doctors.
The whole hallway was filled with people.
Preston looked around, trapped.
He looked at Emily.
At the gun in his hand.
At Raymond, bleeding on the floor.
Then he looked at the bassinet.
At Henry, who’d woken up and was starting to cry.
“I’m sorry,” Preston whispered.
He raised the gun to his own head.
“NO!” Emily screamed.
Preston hesitated.
Just for a split second.
That was all the guard needed.
He fired a taser.
Two prongs hit Preston in the chest.
He convulsed, dropping the gun, collapsing to the floor.
The guards were on him in a second, cuffing him, dragging him out.
Emily ran to Raymond, dropping to her knees next to him, pressing her hands to his shoulder.
“Raymond! Oh my God, Raymond, stay with me—”
“I’m okay, kid,” he gasped, giving her a weak smile. “Just a shoulder. Flesh wound. Your mom would kick my ass if I went out this easy.”
The doctors swarmed around him, cutting off his shirt, pressing gauze to the wound.
Emily ran to the bassinet, picking up Henry, holding him tight, rocking him, kissing his head, whispering over and over that it was okay, that he was safe, that nobody was ever going to hurt them again.
The police came an hour later.
They told her Preston had been charged with attempted murder, escape, illegal possession of a firearm, and violating his restraining order.
He was being held without bail.
He’d never get out of prison.
Not after this.
Raymond was taken into surgery.
The bullet had missed all the major arteries.
He’d be fine.
A week later, Emily brought Henry home to the penthouse.
The whole place was baby-proofed.
A team of nannies on call 24/7.
Security posted at every door.
But Emily didn’t need them.
She slept with Henry in the bed next to her.
Held him every second she could.
Kissed him a hundred times a day.
Raymond came home two weeks later, his arm in a sling, complaining that the doctors were babying him.
He sat on the couch, holding Henry for the first time since the hospital, his eyes wet.
“Hey, little man,” he whispered. “Your Uncle Ray is gonna teach you everything. How to throw a baseball. How to ride a bike. How to spot a liar before they can hurt you. Your grandma Clara would be so proud of you.”
Henry gurgled, grabbing Raymond’s finger with his tiny hand.
Emily watched them, smiling.
It was over.
All of it.
The Whitmores were gone.
Harold was in prison for life.
Preston was in for forty years, minimum.
Vanessa was in a rehab program, working at a women’s shelter, trying to make amends.
Margaret had moved to a small cottage in Maine, living off what was left of her money, volunteering at a local hospital.
The hospital was thriving.
The pediatric wing was fully funded.
The free clinic was bigger than ever.
Emily was the CEO.
And she was good at it.
Better than Harold ever was.
She spent her days making sure the hospital helped people.
The way her mother had always wanted it to.
Six months later, she stood on the balcony of the penthouse, holding Henry, watching the sun set over the city.
He was six months old now.
Sitting up on his own.
Laughing at everything.
The happiest baby in the world.
Raymond came out, two glasses of iced tea in his hand, his sling gone now, his shoulder fully healed.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he said, handing her a glass.
Emily smiled, looking down at Henry.
“I was just thinking,” she said. “About how everything happens for a reason. If Preston hadn’t cheated, if Vanessa hadn’t kicked me, if Harold hadn’t killed Mom… I never would have found my strength. Never would have taken over the hospital. Never would have had Henry all to myself, safe and happy.”
Raymond nodded, putting his arm around her.
“Your mom always said the strongest steel is forged in the hottest fire,” he said. “She’d be so proud of you, Em. So proud.”
Henry gurgled, reaching up to grab Emily’s ear.
She laughed, kissing his chubby cheek.
“Life is good, huh, baby?” she whispered.
The sun dipped below the skyline.
The city lights came on.
May you like
And for the first time in her life, Emily Saint Claire knew.
She was home.
