Chapter 11
Two weeks after the incident at the Westridge house, the afternoon sun filtered through the large windows of the county hospital’s sunroom, casting warm golden patterns across the polished floor. Arthur Vance sat comfortably in a padded wheelchair, a colorful quilt draped across his lap as he watched the leaves drift down from the maple trees outside. His cognitive lapses were still present, but the color had returned to his cheeks, and his breathing was steady and unlabored.
Sarah walked into the sunroom carrying a small tray with a cup of warm tea and a plate of sliced apples. She pulled up a chair beside his wheelchair, setting the tray down on the small table before taking his thin, weathered hand in hers. "How are you feeling today, Dad?" she asked softly, offering a reassuring smile.
Arthur turned his head slowly, his cloudy eyes focusing on her face with a flicker of recognition. "It’s... it’s very bright in here, Sarah. Much brighter than the other room."
"It’s a real room, Dad," Sarah replied gently, squeezing his fingers. "With a view of the outside world. And you're going to stay here where doctors and nurses can take proper care of you, just like you deserve."
Across the room, standing near the doorway with permission from the supervising social worker, Claire and David watched the exchange in silence. They hadn't attempted to approach the bed. The court-mandated restraining order prevented them from interfering with Arthur’s immediate care, and the looming threat of formal sentencing hung over their heads like a dark cloud. Yet, seeing him look peaceful and properly cared for seemed to lift a fraction of the burden from their exhausted shoulders.
Sarah glanced up and noticed them standing by the door. She gently released her father's hand, stood up from her chair, and walked slowly across the room toward her sister and brother-in-law. The distance between them felt vast, measured not in feet, but in broken trust and unspoken regrets.
"He’s doing much better," Sarah said quietly, stopping a few feet away from Claire.
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Claire looked down at her hands, her voice trembling slightly. "Is he angry with us? Does he remember... the basement?"
"I don't think he has the capacity to hold onto anger like that anymore, Claire," Sarah answered honestly. "He just knows he’s safe now. That’s all he ever really needed."
