Page 22 of Wanted

I take my bag and head to open the door. There I find a man in a suit with his hands crossed behind his huge body, waiting for me.

“We’re ready to take you to the hospital, Mrs. Kral,” he informs me.

When we get to the covered garage, another man, also dressed in a dark suit and a serious face, is waiting for us behind the wheel of a brand-new black SUV with heavily tinted windows. It reminds me of the one I saw on the television screen that morning in my living room.

It seems so long ago, but it has only been four days.

It’s incredible how the notion of time is distorted when something out of the ordinary happens.

Upon arrival at the hospital, I see a few paparazzi who are still camped at the parking lot entrance waiting for anything to happen, but thanks to our arrival at the back entrance and the tinted windows, I’m sure they couldn’t see much. Not to mention the man driving is pretty big and I’m sitting behind him, so I’m barely visible.

The elevator journey to the ICU floor seems very long yet too short, and absurd, all at the same time. When we get there, I follow the same protocol as the previous days, except this time, they didn’t require me to put on the gown, nor the mask.

“His mother is with him, she just came in,” the nurse tells me. So, I need to wait a little longer for whatever is going to happen.

My flats squeak against the floor as I walk up and down the hall. Unable to stay still, I’ve walked it so many times that I’m amazed I haven’t made a hole.

The staff here doesn’t seem surprised by my reaction. I suppose they are used to dealing with distressed family members of all kinds. The men Jackson has commissioned to take care of us are still around, watching everything in stony silence, blending into the gray of the walls. But their presence reminds me that danger is still here, lurking, waiting for us to let our guard down, to hover over us.

A jaguar waiting for its prey.

I wish I could know why. Understand the reasons.

Mrs. Kral leaves the room and her cold gaze freezes me on the spot.

I’m sure Mrs. Johanna Kral is used to having her way, and the fact I’m still here, marking my territory, isn’t sitting well with her.

I’m pretty sure that I’m far from being the ideal woman that she would have chosen for her only child. Adopted or not, Lionel is her son.

“You must wait before entering,” the nurse tells me. “I need to check Mr. Kral. Afterward, you can see him.”

The next few minutes seem like an eternity, the moment has yet to come.

I go to the restrooms at the end of the hall. There with my hands resting against the pristine counter, I look at myself in the mirror. The woman in the reflection looks good on the outside, but her eyes are dull. My father used to say that the eyes are the windows to our souls, and mine are undoubtedly a reflection of what I have inside. This situation is breaking me, tearing me apart piece by piece.

But this isn’t the time to surrender, I’m better than this. Better than this mess.

I can do it, I will overcome this shit.

Not even because of him or the illusion of our relationship.

For me.

This war is for me.

I leave the restrooms, walking at a confident pace down the same hallway, this time looking at it in a different light. As I approach the room, I see the nurse come out. She offers me a smile and leaves the door open, encouraging me to enter with a hand gesture.

Here we go.

To the naked eye they might seem like small steps, but for me, each one is like walking the green mile.

I slide the glass door behind me, closing it. I look up to find Lionel half sitting with a pile of pillows behind him, dressed in blue button-down short-sleeved pajamas, gazing at each of my movements.

When our eyes meet, something ignites between us, taking the air from the room and even from my lungs.

“Here I am,” I say, stating the obvious. Duh, Stella, brilliant.

“You look good,” he greets me. “Did you sleep well?”

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