---- Chapter 15 Almeda Hughes POV: | walked into the ICU, and the sight of Jacob broke through the final layer of ice around my heart. He was so small in the enormous hospital bed, dwarfed by the machines that beeped and whirred around him, tubes and wires connecting him to a life he was barely clinging to. Hector sat by the bed, looking like a ghost of the powerful man | once knew. He was gaunt, his eyes bloodshot and hollowed out with fear and sleeplessness. He looked up as | entered, a wave of desperate relief washing over his face. "You came," he whispered. "| came for him," | said, making the distinction clear. | walked to the other side of Jacob's bed and took his small, limp hand in mine. "Hey, sweetie," | murmured, my voice thick. "I'm here." As if he could hear me, his frantic murmuring quieted. A semblance of peace settled over his small, bruised face. | stayed. | practically lived at that hospital for the next two weeks. | talked to Jacob, read him stories, and held his hand, willing him to come back. Hector was a constant, silent presence at my side. We didn't talk about us, about the divorce, about anything. We were just two people bound ---- together by our love for a broken little boy. He told me the hit-and-run was no accident. The police had found the car. It was registered to one of the thugs Helene had hired to trash my restaurant. It was a final, desperate act of revenge, and Jacob had paid the price. On the fifteenth day, | was sitting by his bed, dozing in the uncomfortable chair, when | felt a small squeeze on my hand. My eyes flew open. Jacob's were fluttering. "Almeda?" he whispered, his voice raspy. Tears of relief streamed down my face. "I'm here, Jacob. I'm right here." He smiled, a weak, fragile thing. "| knew you'd come." His eyes fluttered shut again, but this time, he was sleeping peacefully, his breathing deep and even. The doctors were cautiously optimistic. He had a long road of recovery ahead, but he was going to make it. The next day, as | was preparing to leave the room to get some coffee, Hector stopped me. "Don't go," he said, his voice raw with a plea that went beyond Jacob's recovery. "Stay. Please. For him." He looked at me, his eyes full of a pain and regret so profound it was almost palpable. "Gladys told me... she told me Geneva made her promise. To make sure Jacob had a mother, no matter what. ---- She chose you, Almeda. Geneva chose you." He was using every weapon in his arsenal. Jacob. Gladys. Even the memory of his dead wife. | looked at the sleeping boy in the bed, and then at the broken man in front of me. The anger was gone, replaced by a vast, weary emptiness. | stayed. | helped Jacob through weeks of painful physical therapy. | was there for his first steps with a walker, for his first solid meal. | cheered him on, and he blossomed under my care, his old, sullen anger replaced by a quiet, desperate need for my approval. Hector watched from the sidelines, his eyes full of a hopeless, yearning love that | could no longer return The day Jacob was finally discharged, he clung to my hand, his face full of fear. "You're coming home with us, right?" he asked, his voice small. "You're not going to leave again?" | looked at Hector, who was holding his breath, waiting for my answer. This was the moment. The final test. | knelt down to look Jacob in the eye. "I'm not going home with you, sweetie," | said gently. "But I'm not leaving you. | promise." | stood up and pulled my hand from his grasp. | turned my ---- back on their pleading faces and walked towards the hospital exit, towards the car Sarah had sent for me. | heard Jacob's heartbroken sob. | heard Hector call my name, his voice cracking. | didn't stop. | got in the car and told the driver to go. As we pulled away from the curb, | saw them in the side mirror, a lonely father and son standing on the sidewalk, watching me leave for the second, and final, time. The car had just turned the corner when a black sedan, the same one from the police report, came out of nowhere, barreling straight towards us. There was a screech of tires, a sickening crunch of metal, and then, darkness. The last thing | saw before | lost consciousness was a flash of a woman's face in the driver's seat of the other car. It was Helene.