Chapter 4 - THE FATHER WHO WOKE UP ASKING FOR THE WRONG BRIDE
Richard woke properly on the third postoperative day.
He had remained under close intensive-care monitoring.
The medical team watched for complications affecting his brain, kidneys, circulation, and heart.
He was weak.
Exhausted.
And far from ready to leave the hospital.
But his progress was encouraging.
Marcus called me that afternoon.
"Althia, he's asking for you."
I closed my eyes.
For a moment, I wanted to stay home.
I was still emotionally raw.
Every hallway at Sterling Memorial reminded me of Preston.
Every mention of the family name made my chest tighten.
But Richard had asked for me.
And I loved him.
So I went.
---
When I entered his room, Richard was sitting slightly upright.
A blanket covered his legs.
His face was pale.
But his eyes were clear.
When he saw me, he smiled.
"There's my favorite surgeon."
I laughed through tears.
"You have terrible taste."
He frowned.
"I've been told that before."
I sat beside him.
For several seconds, we simply looked at each other.
Then he reached for my hand.
"Marcus told me the operation was complicated."
I nodded.
"It was."
His fingers tightened slightly.
"And you came back from Paris."
"Yes."
His eyes filled.
"Thank you, sweetheart."
I swallowed.
"Richard, you don't owe me thanks for wanting you alive."
He smiled.
"That's exactly why I'm grateful."
For a moment, I looked away.
I couldn't bear how much his kindness hurt.
Then he studied me.
"Althia."
I looked up.
"Yes?"
"Why are you crying?"
I tried to smile.
"Because you frightened everybody."
He shook his head.
"That's not all."
My throat tightened.
Richard had always seen through me.
Even when Preston didn't.
Even when I tried to hide exhaustion behind a smile.
He studied my face.
Then asked:
"What's happened?"
For several seconds, I said nothing.
I thought about the preoperative conversation.
His question about October.
My decision to focus on the emergency.
Now he was recovering.
Still weak.
Still vulnerable.
But no longer facing immediate surgery.
He deserved truthful information at an appropriate time, without anyone manipulating his medical condition to silence me.
I took a breath.
"Richard, there are things happening in the family that you need to know."
His expression changed.
"Preston?"
I nodded.
He closed his eyes.
For a moment, he seemed tired beyond words.
Then whispered:
"I was afraid of that."
My chest tightened.
I looked up.
"What do you mean?"
Richard opened his eyes.
He studied me.
Then asked something I hadn't expected.
"Did Preston marry Cecily Blair?"
I stopped breathing.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then whispered:
"You know?"
Richard looked toward the window.
His expression became sad.
"I didn't know for certain before surgery."
My hands tightened.
He continued.
"But I received an anonymous message suggesting they'd obtained a marriage license."
I stared.
"I asked Preston."
My throat tightened.
"He denied it."
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Richard looked at me.
"And you?"
I closed my eyes.
Tears slipped down my cheeks.
"They married last Friday."
His face changed.
For a moment, he seemed unable to breathe.
Not from his surgical condition.
From shock.
He closed his eyes.
I immediately leaned forward.
"Richard, we don't need to discuss this now."
He shook his head.
Slowly.
"Did he tell you?"
I swallowed.
"No."
A pause.
"I found out at Charles de Gaulle Airport."
Richard looked devastated.
I continued.
"Five days after their wedding."
His eyes filled.
Then he whispered:
"And you still came."
I began crying.
He reached for my hand.
"Althia."
My voice broke.
"You were dying."
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then I whispered:
"Whatever Preston did, I couldn't leave you without care."
Richard began crying.
Quietly.
The way older men sometimes cry when they've spent a lifetime teaching themselves not to.
He squeezed my hand.
Then whispered:
"I'm so sorry."
I shook my head.
"You didn't do this."
He closed his eyes.
"No."
A pause.
"But I raised him."
I looked at him.
"Richard, he's responsible for his own choices."
For several seconds, he remained quiet.
Then he whispered:
"I loved your mother."
My chest tightened.
He opened his eyes.
"As a friend."
I nodded.
"She was the first person who told me I needed to stop working every Sunday."
A faint smile.
"She said a man who couldn't sit down for dinner wasn't nearly as successful as he thought."
I laughed through tears.
That sounded exactly like Mom.
Richard continued.
"When she died, I promised myself I'd make sure you knew you still had family."
My eyes filled.
"I know."
He looked directly at me.
"Althia, you don't stop being family because Preston behaved disgracefully."
I covered my mouth.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then he whispered:
"Don't let him take that away too."
I began sobbing.
Because for months, one of my greatest fears had been losing Richard.
Not only to the dissection.
But to the end of my engagement.
I had loved his family.
Loved their Sunday dinners.
Loved his stories.
Loved the way he treated my achievements as something worth celebrating.
Now he was telling me that Preston's betrayal didn't erase those years.
And for the first time since Paris, I felt a piece of my future return.
---
Richard asked about the foundation documents the following afternoon.
His medical team had confirmed he was alert enough for a limited conversation.
An independent foundation representative attended.
I remained because Richard requested it, but I did not make decisions on his behalf.
He looked toward Eleanor Price.
"Did the medical endorsement go through?"
Eleanor shook her head.
"No."
Relief crossed his face.
Then he looked at me.
"Althia, did you sign anything supporting Blair Integrated Solutions?"
I shook my head.
"Never."
Richard closed his eyes.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then whispered:
"I warned Preston."
My stomach tightened.
"About what?"
"The vendor."
He looked toward Eleanor.
Then back at me.
"I told him the foundation could not select a company simply because he recommended it."
A pause.
"And I told him using your medical reputation without approval would be unacceptable."
My hands became cold.
I remembered Preston's phone call from Paris.
You need to get on a plane.
He'd ordered me home because Richard needed me.
But before that emergency, he'd already been using my name in the foundation's paperwork.
I looked at Richard.
For a moment, my voice disappeared.
Then whispered:
"Did he listen?"
Richard's expression answered before he spoke.
"No."
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Richard said:
"Althia, I want you to cooperate fully with the independent review."
I nodded.
"I intend to."
"And don't protect Preston because of me."
My eyes filled.
He squeezed my hand.
"You saved my life."
His voice broke.
"I won't ask you to spend the rest of yours protecting his lies."
I bowed my head.
And cried.
May you like
Because the man I'd flown across an ocean to save had just given me something Preston never understood.
Permission to tell the truth without apologizing for it.
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