Chapter 7 - SHADOWS IN THE ICU
The Intensive Care Unit on the eighth floor of Manhattan General Hospital was quiet, save for the rhythmic, electronic beep of heart monitors and the gentle hum of ventilators. Armed police officers stood guard outside room 804, where Margaret Blackwood lay hooked up to intravenous lines and oxygen tubes.
Clara and Ethan walked down the sterile, dimly lit hallway. Ethan’s footsteps were heavy with hesitation, while Clara moved with a calm, purposeful grace.
The guard outside the door nodded respectfully to Ethan. "You have ten minutes, Mr. Blackwood. She just woke up, but she's very weak."
Ethan pushed the door open softly.
Margaret Blackwood looked small and frail against the large hospital bed. Gone was the immaculate hair, the pearl dress, and the sharp, arrogant posture that had terrified corporate boardrooms for two decades. Her face was pale, her skin papery, her lips dry.
As the door clicked shut, Margaret’s eyelids fluttered open. She slowly turned her head toward them. When her eyes landed on Clara’s bald head, a weak, bitter shadow of a smile touched her lips.
"Came to... watch me die, Clara?" Margaret rasped, her voice barely a whisper through the oxygen mask.
"No, Margaret," Clara said softly, coming to stand near the foot of the bed. "I came to ask you a question."
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Ethan stepped up to the edge of the bed, looking down at his mother with a mix of sorrow and anger. "Mother, why did you do it? Why ruin our family? Why try to destroy Clara?"
Margaret swallowed hard, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye and sinking into her graying hair. "You... you were always soft, Ethan. Just like your father. You didn't understand... the world out there. It
