Chapter 2 - The empty chair
I woke to darkness and machinery.
No Caleb.
No flowers.
No Blackwoods.
There was only a nurse adjusting my IV and a cracked phone sitting beside the bed.
Dr. Evans arrived twenty minutes later.
“You were fortunate.”
I disliked that word immediately.
People called women fortunate when they survived things they should never have been forced to survive.
He explained the abdominal injury was stable, but my leg would require reconstructive surgery and months of rehabilitation.
“Khloe?”
His hesitation told me everything.
“Mild concussion. Significant bruising. No cardiac event.”
“And my husband?”
The nurse looked away.
Dr. Evans didn’t.
“He’s still with her.”
I stared at the empty chair beside my bed.
Then my phone vibrated.
Three voicemails from Caleb’s mother, Victoria Blackwood.
The first was almost gentle.
“Lucia, Khloe was frightened. Please don’t embarrass Caleb over something that happened during an emergency.”
The second was colder.
“A Blackwood wife knows when to be dignified.”
The third contained no disguise.
“If you love my son, stop making yourself the problem.”
I saved all three.
Then created an encrypted folder.
Caleb.
Khloe.
Victoria.
Hospital.
I uploaded everything.
The nurse watched silently.
“Mrs. Blackwood, you should rest.”
“Miss Sinclair.”
She blinked.
I repeated it.
“Call me Miss Sinclair.”
Something softened in her expression.
“Okay, Miss Sinclair.”
My phone buzzed again.
Caleb.
You’re awake. Go reassure Khloe. She thinks you blame her.
I read it twice.
Not How are you?
Not I’m sorry.
He wanted his injured wife to drag herself into another woman’s room and comfort her.
I blocked him.
Then called a number I hadn’t used in years.
Ara Voss answered from Switzerland.
My late mother’s closest friend had once offered me a position with her rehabilitation foundation outside Geneva.
Caleb had refused for me.
A wife belongs beside her husband.
I had mistaken possession for devotion.
“Lucia?” Ara asked.
“I need help.”
Her voice changed instantly.
“Where are you?”
“New York.”
“What happened?”
“Car crash.”
“Are you safe?”
I looked toward the empty chair.
“No.”
Ara did not ask whether Caleb approved.
“I’ll arrange everything.”
Hours later, an international medical transfer was being prepared.
At dusk, Caleb’s assistant Arthur entered carrying an expensive coat and an expression full of shame.
“Mr. Blackwood asked me to check on you.”
“He sent an employee?”
Arthur lowered his eyes.
“Miss Reed became dizzy.”
I handed him the plastic box containing my ring.
“Give him this.”
Arthur stared at it.
“This feels serious.”
“It is.”
As the medevac team wheeled me toward the elevator, voices drifted from Khloe’s room.
“Did I make Lucia angry?” Khloe asked.
“She’ll calm down,” Caleb replied. “You’re what matters.”
The elevator doors closed.
Hours later, somewhere above the Atlantic, Ara entered my medical cabin carrying a leather folder embossed with my mother’s initials.
She placed it on my blanket.
“There is something Helena discovered about the Blackwoods before she died.”
My mother.
I opened the folder.
The first document was a property deed.
Blackwood Memorial Medical Center.
My eyes moved toward the ownership line.
Lucia Helena Sinclair.
I looked at Ara.
“This hospital belongs to me?”
Ara shook her head.
“Not exactly.”
She turned another page.
“You own the company that owns the hospital.”
May you like
And beneath it was a handwritten warning from my mother:
Never let Victoria Blackwood discover Lucia knows.
