The transition from the sterile, crowded hallway to the VIP recovery suite of Riverbend General Hospital should have felt like a reprieve. The room was spacious, furnished with polished mahogany accents and soft, recessed lighting that mimicked the warmth of a sunset. A high-end air filtration system hummed almost silently in the corner, and the windows offered a panoramic view of the Riverbend skyline, sparkling with the artificial jewelry of a thousand neon signs.
But for Derek Faulkner, the luxury felt like a mockery.
As the nurses settled Lemon Faulkner into the oversized medical bed, the atmosphere remained suffocatingly heavy. The expensive leather armchairs and the private kitchenette did nothing to bridge the five-foot distance between Derek and his wife. Serena Ashford stood by
