Chapter Five
1366 Words
Callum Reid got to the hospital on Friday morning at eleven. He was three days late. Hadn't called ahead. Marisol found out from Patricia during their shift change at the nurses’ station.
Patricia spoke in a lower voice.
"A dressed man went straight to Room 14 without checking in at reception."
Marisol looked at the chart in front of her. "Is he family?"
"Not exactly " Patricia said. "Security tried to stop him. He made a phone call and suddenly he was allowed in."
Marisol understood. Some people get through life with permission while others do so by expectation. Men like Dominic Crane and Callum Reid fit into the category.
Marisol wasn't supposed to care. She was finishing a stretch of night shifts. Her body felt empty from too much caffeine and not enough sleep. Room 14 wasn't her responsibility until nine that evening.
Still, she stopped by.
She told herself it was curiosity. An unvetted visitor around a vulnerable patient.
The recovery wing was quiet, neither asleep nor awake. In between urgency and routine. A monitor beeped before being silenced. A cart rattled faintly on the tile floor.
Marisol slowed down near Room 14. Looked through the narrow glass window in the door.
Dominic was sitting up. That alone made her pause. Three days ago he could barely stay awake. Now he was alert with color in his face and a sharpness in his eyes.
Across from him sat a man in a charcoal suit broad-shouldered and calm. He spoke quietly.
Callum Reid. She recognized him from the company website. Chief Operating Officer. Forty-one. Former corporate attorney. Business magazines described him as disciplined and surgical.
The photos didn't capture his stillness. He seemed to notice everything but react to nothing.
Marisol was still watching when he turned his head toward the window and looked directly at her. Not vaguely in her direction. At her.
She didn't look away enough. For a moment they just stared at each other.
Then he said something to Dominic, who stood up smoothly and walked to the door. Marisol straightened as he stepped into the corridor.
Close he was taller than she expected. His expression was calm. His attention landed on her with uncomfortable precision.
"You're his night nurse " he said. Not a question.
Marisol folded her arms loosely. "I'm one of the nurses assigned to this floor."
"Patricia is days " he said. "You're nights."
Again not a question. He already knew.
"How long have you been assigned to him?" he asked.
"Since admission " Marisol replied.
"Four days " he said.
"Yes."
Callum studied her for a moment his eyes evaluative. Then he said, "He called you by her name the night."
The air in the corridor seemed to thin. Marisol kept her face neutral. "He was confused from anesthesia. That's common after trauma."
"I know what's common " Callum said. "I'm asking what happened."
There was no sharpness in his tone. It still made her uncomfortable.
Marisol chose her words carefully. "He regained consciousness in distress. He was disoriented. I de-escalated the situation."
Callum watched her for another second. "He told me about it this morning. Apparently with clarity."
Her stomach tightened slightly. "He remembers little from the first forty-eight hours after surgery.. He remembers waking up calling for Genevieve and someone answering him." His eyes didn't leave hers. "He said he felt anchored."
The word landed harder than she expected. Marisol remembered the moment. Dominic was half-conscious and frightened. His hand gripped hers with strength.
"He was vulnerable " Marisol said quietly. "Patients often attach significance to moments of stabilization after trauma."
Callum tilted his head slightly considering her. "That sounds rehearsed."
Something defensive flickered through her chest. "It sounds medically accurate."
"I'm sure it is " he said politely.
For a moment they just stood there. A nurse passed at the end of the corridor pushing a medication cart and immediately decided not to involve herself.
Callum slipped one hand into his coat pocket. "I've known Genevieve Ashworth for eleven months. Enough to know how she speaks how she moves. Long enough to know what Dominic looks like when he's in love with her."
Marisol said nothing. Callum's gaze remained calm and unwavering.
"You're not her " he said.
It wasn't an accusation. It was recognition.
Hearing someone say it aloud made the situation feel real in a way it hadn't before.
Marisol was his nurse. That's all.
". When he called you by her name?" Callum asked.
"He was barely conscious " she replied. "Correcting him aggressively would have caused distress."
"Did you correct him all?" he asked.
The question hit directly than she expected. Marisol hesitated a fraction long.
Callum noticed. Of course he did. His expression didn't change,. Something settled behind his eyes. Confirmation.
"I see " he said softly.
The silence stretched. Inside the room, Dominic laughed faintly at something on the television unaware that the ground beneath his feet was quietly shifting outside the door.
Marisol suddenly felt exhausted. Not physically. Morally.
The truth was messy. She had never claimed to be Genevieve.. She also hadn't stopped him quickly enough.
Callum seemed to read part of that from her expression. When he spoke again his voice was quieter.
"Dominic trusts few people. Less now than before the accident. If he's attached himself to you psychologically that matters."
"I know " Marisol said.
"Do you?" he asked gently.
The question was gentle. It made her uncomfortable.
Callum reached into his jacket. Removed a business card. He held it out to her.
Marisol looked at it for a moment before taking it.
"When you decide to tell me what's actually happening " he said, "call that number."
She slipped the card into her palm without answering. Callum's gaze shifted briefly toward the room behind him.
". Then " he added evenly "we can have a conversation about Genevieve."
The name lingered between them. Marisol felt a faint chill crawl up her spine.
There was something in the way he said it. Something that implied the situation was larger than she understood.
Before she could decide whether to ask what he meant Callum inclined his head once. Stepped back into the room.
The door closed softly behind him. Marisol remained standing in the corridor.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Nearby a phone rang once and stopped.
In her hand, the business card felt strangely heavy. She looked down at it.
CALLUM REID
Chief Operating Officer
Crane Industries
Beneath the printed office number was another number handwritten, in ink.
Personal.
She stared at it for seconds.
Then she put the card in her scrub jacket pocket. Walked to the elevators before anyone could stop her.
Outside the city was too bright after the hospital's light.
She drove home quietly.
Her apartment was small and cool. Smelled a bit like lavender. Usually, it calmed her down after a shift.
Today it didn't.
She put her bag down by the kitchen counter. Took out the card.
She read the number once.
Twice.
Then she put it beside the sink. Filled a kettle with water.
Making tea usually helped. Taking a shower and sleeping.
She just stood there while the kettle boiled.
Her mind kept replaying their conversation.
* You are not her.
* He remembers that night clearly.
* We can talk about Genevieve.
The kettle screamed.
Marisol jumped a bit. Turned off the stove.
She made tea. Didn't drink it.
An hour later it sat on the counter, cold and amber-colored.
The card was still beside it.
At one point she picked up her phone.
Not to call.
Just to look at the number.
Her thumb hovered over the screen for a second before she locked the phone and put it down hard.
No.
Not yet.
Because calling him would make everything real.
Something inside her said that once she started this there would be no easy way back.
So before bed, she picked up the card one last time.
Then she opened the kitchen drawer where she kept things. Spare keys, bills, photos, documents. And put it carefully inside.
Not thrown away.
Not forgotten.
Kept.
Which Marisol knew, was its kind of answer.
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