When Beatrice stepped out of the consultation room and saw him standing there — pale, eyes red — she froze.
“Mr. Caldwell…”
He walked toward her slowly.
“You’re not going to die,” he said, voice firm but shaking. “Not if I can help it.”
“You didn’t hear everything,” she whispered.
“I heard enough.”
He took the medical folder gently from the doctor’s hands.
“I’m calling the best specialists in the country. Cost doesn’t matter.”
“Why would you do that for me?” she asked through tears.
This time he didn’t avoid the truth.
“Because I already lost the woman I loved to a disease I couldn’t fight. I won’t stand by and lose another life when there’s still hope.”
She began to sob.
And Ethan pulled her into an embrace right there in the white hospital corridor.
Not employer and employee.
Two broken people holding onto the possibility of a miracle.
Treatment began within weeks.
Ethan spared no expense. Top oncologists. A private hospital in Houston. Consultations with experts from MD Anderson Cancer Center.
The doctors were honest: the tumor was aggressive. The pregnancy complicated everything.
But Beatrice never wavered.
“I’m not abandoning my child.”