Chapter 9 - The Rebuilding
Six months passed, bringing spring to the hills of my estate.
My ribs healed, and my leg cast was replaced by a sleek walking cane.
I spent my mornings in physical therapy and my afternoons running my new foundation.
Julian visited twice a week, though strictly speaking, he didn't need to come that often.
We had developed a friendship born out of the chaos of the hospital room.
One afternoon, we were sitting on my back patio overlooking the valley.
“I got a call from Greg’s lawyer today,” Julian mentioned casually, sipping his coffee.
“Oh?” I asked, barely looking up from my book.
“They want a loan,” Julian laughed softly. “I told them you were unavailable.”
“Forever,” I added, turning the page.
“Lauren had the baby,” he continued softly, testing the waters.
I stopped reading.
I looked out over the blooming gardens, feeling a small twinge in my chest.
I was an aunt.
But to a child I would never meet.
“I hope the baby is healthy,” I said honestly.
“A boy. They’re fine,” Julian confirmed.
“Good,” I nodded. “Let’s keep it that way. No contact.”
“Your parents are working retail to make rent,” he added.
I remembered my mother bragging about her country club status just a year ago.
It was a harsh reality check, but one they desperately needed.
“They made their bed,” I said, closing my book.
Marisol walked out onto the patio, carrying a tray of fresh fruit.
“You have that interview with Forbes in an hour,” she reminded me.
“Right,” I sighed, standing up with the help of my cane.
The magazine was doing a feature on my new foundation.
They wanted to know why a tech mogul pivoted to trauma recovery advocacy.
I knew exactly what I was going to tell them.
I was going to tell them the truth.
I was going to talk about the nine calls.
May you like
I was going to ensure that no one ever forgot what happened in that hospital room.
Not out of spite, but out of self-respect.
