"You've killed him," Chris's aunt hissed, her face twisted with hatred. "He is dying because of you. If he dies, you die with him."
Susan hit the ground hard, clutching Leah, shielding her with her body. Cameras flashed. No one helped. She burned with shame, with helpless rage.
For three days, she didn't eat more than scraps. She slept on hard benches, her arms aching from holding Leah through her cries. Every time the ICU doors swung open; her heart leapt only to crash when the news was never for her.
When the word finally came, he survived, Susan wept until she couldn't breathe. Relief warred with dread. Because even then… he hadn't asked for her.
No call. No message. No Chris.
Her hope fractured. She had depended on him too much, leaned too hard on his strength. Without him, she felt like she was crumbling.
With nowhere else to go, she drifted back to the Beast. Vanilla opened the door with a gasp, and Susan broke in her arms, sobbing until she couldn't see straight.
Days passed in a fog of despair. She couldn't keep food down. She clung to Leah like a lifeline, whispering promises she wasn't sure she could keep.
"You'll never grow up alone," she whispered into her baby's soft hair. "Not like I did. I'll keep you safe, even if it kills me."
But inside, she was unravelling.
Until the morning the television lit up with breaking news.
Chris Lopez alive. Walking out of the hospital.
Her heart stopped.
The man they said was too weak to survive. The man they said she had destroyed. The man she loved, standing tall, eyes blazing with something that looked like purpose.
Her knees buckled. For days she had convinced herself she was abandoned. That he didn't want her. That his silence was rejection. But seeing him alive… seeing him fight his way back…
Something inside her snapped back into place. She had to find him.
No excuses. No fear. No matter what his family thought, no matter what the world said.
She grabbed Leah, wrapped her tight, and stepped out the door.
In the hospital, he had begged. Over and over. Where's Susan? Where's my daughter?
But every answer was the same. She left. She's gone. She didn't want to be found.
He didn't believe them. He couldn't.
Each lie twisted deeper into his chest. The longer he stayed in bed, the more his fear grew that she was out there, alone, vulnerable, struggling without him.
When his aunt cornered him, spitting venom about Susan being "no good," Chris snapped.
"For how long will you ruin my life?" His roar cracked the air, his voice breaking as he smashed the coffee table. "First Stephanie. Then Aunt May. Now you? I gave you everything. Everything. And all I wanted was her. The only thing that mattered. And you couldn't even give me that."
His chest heaved, tears cutting through the fury.
"She's a curse…."
"Enough!" he bellowed. His voice shook with rage and grief.
"She is the only thing I wanted. They are mine, my family, and if you can't accept that, then you're no family of mine."
Silence. Heavy. Unbearable. And then….
"Chris?"
Her voice. He spun.
There she was. Susan, trembling, her eyes red from crying, Leah cradled close. She looked fragile, broken, but real. Not a ghost. Not a dream.
24
C
hris stumbled toward her, blood seeping fresh from moving too much, he had stubbornly left the hospital to search for them. But he didn't care. He crushed her into his arms, his shoulders shaking as he buried his face in her hair.
"I thought I lost you," he whispered, voice cracked and raw. "I thought you left."
Susan sobbed into his chest, clutching him back. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should've been there. I should've…."
"No." He cupped her face, kissing her temple, kissing Leah's soft head. "You're here. That's all that matters. You're here."
His PA's voice broke through, shaky. "The ambulance is on its way. He's bleeding…."
Susan gasped, seeing the stain of blood on his shirt. Her hands pressed against his chest, trembling. "You weren't supposed to get hurt. Not for me."
Chris kissed her, silencing her fear. "It's over. We're together. That's all that matters now."
For the first time in days, Susan let herself believe him.
Chris's hospital room was quiet except for the steady beep of the monitor.
Susan sat curled in the chair beside his bed, Leah asleep against her chest. She hadn't left since the ambulance brought him in not for food, not for sleep. Just there, counting the rise and fall of his chest, drinking in every sign that he was still with them.
When his eyes finally opened, groggy but alive, Susan broke. Tears fell freely, unstoppable.
"Don't cry," Chris rasped, his voice weak but threaded with that familiar stubbornness. He tried to lift his arm, winced, and let out a breath.
Susan caught his hand before he could strain himself, pressing her lips to his knuckles. "You're not allowed to scare me like that again."
A faint smile tugged at his mouth, though his eyes glistened. "Then don't keep walking away."
Her throat closed. She didn't answer, just laid her head on his arm, letting the sound of his heartbeat settle the storm inside her.
The days blurred into a rhythm of fragile tenderness.
Susan fed him soup when his hands shook too much. She straightened his pillows when he shifted uncomfortably. At night, when pain kept him from sleep, she sat by his bed, humming softly until his breathing evened out.
Chris insisted on holding Leah despite the bandages, cradling her like a miracle he'd nearly lost.
"She missed you," Susan murmured one evening as Leah slept beside him.
"I missed her more," Chris whispered. Then, quieter, as his gaze found hers: "I missed both of you more."
Her hand reached for his almost unconsciously. His breakdown at the penthouse replayed in her head. His pain. His plea. She squeezed his fingers. "We're here now."
By the week's end, he was strong enough to walk out of the hospital, and back at the penthouse, recovery blurred into something dangerously sweet.