The private medical suite in Croft Manor was state-of-the-art. Victoria lay on the exam table, the cold gel on her stomach making her shiver.
William stood by the door, refusing to sit. He looked like a statue–rigid, imposing, the “Obsessed Father” guarding his asset.
“Okay,” the doctor said. “Let’s take a look.”
The monitor flickered to life. A grainy, grey image appeared. And then, the sound filled the room.
*Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh.*
It was fast, rhythmic, and undeniably alive.
Victoria gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Tears pricked her eyes instantly. It was real. Despite the stress, the falls, the fighting–the life was there.
She looked at William.
The statue had cracked.
William was staring at the monitor, his mouth slightly open. His eyes, usually so cold and calculating, were swimming with tears. He took a staggering step forward, reaching out toward the screen as if he could touch the sound.
“Is that…” his voice broke completely. “Is that the heart?”
“Strong and steady,” the doctor confirmed.
William covered his face with his hand, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The crushing weight of his mistakes, the burning of his company, the loss of his wife–it all crashed down on him in the face of this tiny, persistent heartbeat.
Victoria watched him weep. For the first time in months, she didn’t see the CEO or the enemy. She saw the man she had married. The man who had been hurt.
“William,” she whispered.
He looked at her, his face wet, stripped of all defenses. He didn’t say anything. He just reached out, his hand hovering over hers on the bedrail. This time, Victoria didn’t flinch. She turned her hand over, interlacing her fingers with his.
For a single, fragile moment in the golden cage, there was no war. There was only the heartbeat.