The Daughter He Rejected

Chapter 8

(Duncan POV)

My heart skipped. She did not remember. Of course she did not remember. It had been three years. She had been focused on a dying man. I had been standing in a doorway.

“No,” I said. “I don’t think so.”

She nodded slowly. She did not believe me. I could see it in her face. But she did not push.

“Why are you staring at me?” she asked.

“Because you’re not like the others.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been a nurse for twelve years. I’ve worked in a lot of places. I’ve seen patients who are lost, and I’ve seen patients who are afraid. You’re afraid. That’s different.”

She looked down at her hands. “I am afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of everything.” She pressed her palm against her stomach. A small gesture. Protective. “I don’t know who to trust.”

“That’s smart,” I said. “Trust no one in this place. Not until you know they’re worth trusting.”

She looked up at me. “And you? Are you worth trusting?”

I met her eyes. “I’d like to be.”

She was quiet for a long time. Then she said, “I’m pregnant.”

I already knew. I had read her chart. But hearing her say it made it real.

“Does the father know?” I asked.

She looked away. “No. I didn’t get a chance to tell him.”

“Do you want him to know?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

I stood up. The chair scraped against the floor.

“Get some rest,” I said. “Tomorrow will be long.”

She looked at me. “Why are you being kind to me? You don’t even know me.”

I hesitated. I could tell her the truth. About the ER. About the homeless man. About my brother.

Not yet. It was too soon.

“Let’s just say I have a feeling about you,” I said.

I walked to the door. I paused with my hand on the frame.

“Duncan,” she called.

I turned.

“Thank you. For the blanket. For the water. For not treating me like I’m crazy.”

“You’re not crazy, Miss Campbell. You’re scared. There’s a difference.”

I stepped into the hallway.

And froze.

Linda stood at the end of the corridor, her arms crossed, her eyes fixed on me. She had been watching. I did not know for how long.

She did not speak. She did not move. She just stared.

I closed the door behind me and walked toward the nurses’ station. My heart pounded. My hands were steady.

I did not know Linda yet. I did not know what she was capable of.

But I knew one thing: she was watching me. And she did not look pleased.

I would have to be careful.

I had made a promise. To myself. To my brother. To the woman in Room 312.

I would watch over her.

No matter what it cost.