Chapter 3: Golden Hallways and Quiet Prayers
Within forty minutes, the woman, Claire Moreau, was admitted to the private VIP wing of the American Hospital of Paris under Julien’s personal account. Top pulmonologists swarmed the suite, stabilizing her severe double pneumonia with intravenous antibiotics and oxygen.
Outside the glass partition of the intensive care unit, Leo and Theo stood like statues on the polished marble floor. Henri had bought them fresh dry clothes—simple gray cotton sweaters and warm woolen trousers—along with warm hot chocolate and fresh croissants. Yet neither child had touched the food.
"Is she going to die?" Leo asked, staring through the glass at the rhythmic pulse on the cardiac monitor.
Julien crouched down so he was level with the eight-year-old's eyes. "No. The best doctors in the country are in that room. I give you my word, she will wake up."
Theo walked over and gently leaned his forehead against Julien’s tailored knee, exhausted beyond measure. Julien froze. For years, people approached him only for contracts, investments, or influence. No one had ever leaned on him simply for safety. Slowly, awkwardly, Julien placed a broad, protective hand on the little boy’s head.
"Why are you doing this for us?" Leo asked, his gaze searching Julien's face with a maturity that broke Julien's heart. "We're nobody."
May you like
Julien turned the small rusted tin car over in his palm. "Because twenty-five years ago, I was you. And no one stopped their car for me."
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