The Awakening
The ICU room was quiet, insulated from the rest of the hospital by thick glass walls.
Emma lay propped up on clean white pillows, an IV line running into the back of her hand. Her face was pale, the cut on her temple covered by a clean butterfly strip, but her breathing was deep, rhythmic, and natural.
David sat in the chair beside her bed, holding her limp hand between both of his. Marcus stood near the foot of the bed, silent as a sentinel.
Slowly, Emma’s fingers twitched.
Her eyelids fluttered, squinting against the soft morning light. A dry, raspy cough caught in her throat.
"Em?" David leaned in, his voice cracking. "Emma, can you hear me?"
Emma turned her head slowly. Her hazel eyes, clouded with anesthesia, gradually focused on her brother’s face. She tried to sit up instantly, but a sharp gasp of pain caught in her chest.
"David..." she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her hand immediately moved downward, searching her flattened stomach. Panic flared in her eyes. "My baby... David, where is my baby?"
"He’s alive, Emma," David said quickly, pressing her shoulders gently back against the pillow. "He’s alive. He’s in the NICU right down the hall. A boy. Two pounds, eleven ounces. He has your stubborn chin."
Emma closed her eyes, tears spilling freely over her cheeks, soaking into the cotton pillowcase. "He’s alive... he’s alive..."
"And Julian won't touch him," Marcus spoke from the corner.
May you like
Emma looked over, surprised to see Marcus. "Marcus?"
"He’s done, Emma," Marcus said, his voice steady and certain. "We have the audio recording from the kitchen. The police warrant was signed twenty minutes ago."
