Chapter 3 - The Midnight Drive To The Shabby Brooklyn Hospice Unit
The black SUV tore through the rain-slicked streets of New York, tires spraying water against the concrete barriers of the expressway.
Ethan kept one hand firmly on the steering wheel while reaching back with his other hand to hold Lucy’s small, shivering fingers.
“Tell me everything, Lucy. How long has she been in New York? Why didn't she come to me nine years ago?” Ethan asked desperately.
Lucy stared out the window at the blurred city lights, her young voice carrying the weight of a lifetime spent in quiet survival.
“Victoria’s men told Mom that if she ever contacted you, they would ruin your father’s business and ensure you went to prison,” Lucy revealed.
“Mom was terrified for you and for me, so she took the money, moved to New Jersey, and raised me completely alone in a tiny apartment.”
Ethan’s knuckles turned bone-white against the leather wheel as rage, hotter than fire, surged through his blood.
He had spent nearly a decade believing the love of his life had died in an international car crash, drinking himself to sleep for years.
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All while Victoria Hale played the devoted, comforting friend, slowly positioning herself to step into Olivia’s place as his future bride.
He pressed harder on the gas pedal, weaving recklessly through midnight traffic, terrified that he might be too late to say goodbye.
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