Vivian stiffened.
I looked at her.
Ethan had said too much.
Brooke said quickly, “He means as family.”
Of course.
Everything Ethan did had an explanation waiting.
My father stood.
“This has gone far enough.
Nathan, apologize properly.
Ethan is terrified.
Your mother is falling apart.
Vivian hasn’t slept.
Just end this.”
I tried to lift myself.
Pain tore through me.
The monitor screamed.
My mother shouted for me to lie down, but I kept moving.
If Father wanted a proper apology, I needed to make it proper.
There was a fruit tray beside the bed.
A knife rested on a folded napkin.
Vivian saw my eyes go to it.
“Nathan, no.”
But I was already reaching.
A nurse entered before I touched it.
Behind her stood a woman in a navy dress and white coat, dark-skinned, silver-haired, with eyes that did not panic.
“I’m Dr. Amelia Hart,” she said.
“And nobody in this room is going to give my patient another command.”
Brooke scoffed.
“Excuse me?”
Dr. Hart looked at her.
“You heard me.”
My father stepped forward with the old Whitaker authority, the tone that opened boardrooms and closed investigations.
“Doctor, this is a private family matter.”
“No,” Dr. Hart said.
“It became a medical matter when your son nearly died in my hospital.”
Ethan wiped his eyes.
“Doctor, Nathan has a history of violence.
We’re only trying to keep everyone safe.”
Dr. Hart looked at him for a long time.
Ethan lowered his gaze, but not before I saw irritation flash behind his tears.
“I’ll speak to Nathan alone,” she said.
Brooke crossed her arms.
“That’s not safe.”
“For whom?” Dr. Hart asked.
No one answered.
Security escorted them out.
My mother resisted until my father guided her away.
Vivian lingered at the door.
For one second, she looked like she wanted to say something to me.
Then Ethan touched her sleeve, and she left.
The door closed.
Silence filled the room.
Dr. Hart sat beside my bed, not too close.
“Nathan, do you know why I’m here?”
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