Chapter 28 - THE DRIVE THROUGH THE WHITEOUT
The snow-packed highway was a treacherous ribbon of white ice, but Grant didn't hesitate. He grabbed his heavy coat, threw his keys onto the counter, and walked out the door with a look of grim, unyielding determination on his face. I followed him instantly. Claire had tried to insist on coming too, but between looking after Mason and Harper and the sheer unpredictability of the icy roads, we agreed she needed to stay behind with the kids.
"Are you sure you want to do this, son?" I asked from the passenger seat as the truck’s tires spun slightly before catching traction on the uncleared neighborhood street.
"I don't have a choice, Mom," Grant said, his knuckles white as death on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the hazy white horizon ahead. "She has no one else in Austin. No family, no close friends, nothing. If I don't answer that call, who does? I can't just let her die in a sterile hospital room alone."
"Nobody is asking you to turn your back on basic human decency, Grant," I said gently, laying my hand over his rigid forearm. "I just want to make sure you're doing this for the right reasons—not out of guilt, but out of the strength of the man you’ve become."
"I am," he breathed, exhaling slowly. "I’m not going back to her, Mom. I’m going because I can't look my son in the eye if I let someone die when I had the power to show up."
The drive to St. David’s Hospital took forty agonizing minutes through the blinding whiteout. When we finally pulled into the emergency parking lot, the towering brick building looked stark and forbidding against the gray winter sky.
We hurried inside through the automatic sliding doors, the blast of sterile, overheated air hitting us instantly. Grant marched straight up to the nurse’s station, his badge of quiet authority commanding immediate attention.
"Grant Miller," he said firmly. "I received a call about Elena Vance. I’m her listed emergency contact."
The receptionist, a kind-faced woman with tired eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, quickly tapped at her computer keyboard. "Ah, yes, Mr. Miller. Room 314. Third floor ICU. She’s stable, but she suffered severe hypothermia and a concussion when her car slid off the icy embankment on Loop 1. You're family?"
"Former husband," Grant corrected quietly. "Is she awake?"
"She just regained consciousness about ten minutes ago," the nurse replied, handing him a visitor’s pass. "Be gentle with her, sir. Her body temperature dropped dangerously low, and she’s still quite confused."
May you like
We took the elevator up to the third floor. The hallways were eerily quiet, save for the hum of medical monitors and the soft squeak of rubber-soled shoes on linoleum. When we reached Room 314, the door was half-open.
Grant pushed it gently and stepped inside. I lingered just outside the threshold, giving them space, but keeping my eyes fixed on the scene unfolding within.
