Chapter 9 - The Hospice by the River
The St. Clare Riverside Hospice was a quiet, modest brick building nestled against the frozen embankment of the Chicago River, providing end-of-life care and emergency sanctuary for the destitute. When Ethan’s town car skidded to a halt outside the wrought-iron gates, he burst through the main entrance without waiting for the driver, startling the night nurse at the reception desk. “Grace Bennett!” Ethan demanded, his voice breathless and frantic. “Where is Grace Bennett? I know she’s here!” The nurse, an elderly woman with kind, tired eyes, recognized the wild urgency in his face. She slowly stood up from her chair, pointing down the dimly lit hallway toward Room 12. “She was brought in late last night by a Good Samaritan who found her collapsed near the shipping yards,” the nurse said gently. “She’s in critical condition, Mr. Caldwell. Her pneumonia combined with severe malnutrition... her heart is barely holding on.” Ethan didn't wait to hear the rest. He raced down the hallway, throwing open the door to Room 12. The room was bathed in the pale, silver glow of the moon filtering through frosted windowpanes. Lying motionless in the narrow hospital bed was Grace. Her brown hair was splayed across the white pillow, her cheeks hollow, and her breathing shallow and raspy. On her left wrist, catching the moonlight, rested the silver bracelet with the tiny moon charm. Ethan dropped to his knees beside the bed, burying his face in the blankets near her hand, his shoulders shaking with agonizing, uncontrollable grief. “Grace...” he sobbed, pressing his lips against her cold fingers. “I’m here. I’m so sorry... please don't leave me.”
