The nurse hesitated—and that hesitation told him everything before she even spoke.
“Mr. Carter left about four hours ago,” she said carefully. “He said… he was overwhelmed. That he couldn’t bear to see her like this. He said he needed to go pray.”
“Pray?” Henry repeated, the word sharp with disbelief.
She nodded. “He mentioned the cathedral. And a spiritual advisor.”
Henry let out a slow breath, his jaw tightening.
“He left his wife here to die… and he’s praying?”
The nurse lowered her eyes. “That’s what he said.”
For a moment, anger surged through him—but Henry forced it down. He had spent a lifetime mastering control. Rage, when used correctly, wasn’t explosive.
It was precise.
He pulled out his phone, his hands steady now, his mind already shifting into something colder, more focused.
He called Ethan.
The phone rang several times before it was answered.
“Hello, Mr. Collins,” Ethan said, his voice too calm, too polished.
“I’m at the hospital,” Henry said flatly. “Your wife is alone. Where are you?”
A pause.
“Oh… it’s just… it’s a lot,” Ethan replied, forcing a tremor into his voice. “I couldn’t handle it. I’m praying for her.”