Chapter 2
Colonel Reynolds‘ brow furrowed as Stella remained frozen in the foyer’s damp aftermath. A flicker of unease crossed his face- vanishing as he turned toward Celeste.
He extended a velvet pastry box. “Macarons from La Maison. You mentioned craving them last week.”
Celeste’s gasp fluttered like a scripted reaction. “Finn! I only said that in passing!” Her fingers brushed his as she accepted the gift. “You shouldn’t have gone all the way to Georgetown.”
“Worth the drive.” His thumb grazed her wrist–a gesture Stella had never received in twenty years.
Stella dug her nails into her palms until half–moons bloomed.
Fiona latched onto Finn’s leg. “Daddy! Starving!” Liam yanked his sleeve. “Make mother cook already!”
Finn’s gaze swept over Stella, “We’ll dine at The Oak Room.”
The children whooped, dragging Celeste toward the driveway.
Celeste pivoted with saccharine concern. “Join us, Stella?” Her manicured grip tightened before Stella could refuse.
At the steakhouse’s leather booth, Celeste perused the menu. “Any preferences?”
“Order for us.” Finn didn’t glance up from his phone.
Stella watched Celeste select jalapeño–glazed ribs, ghost pepper wings, and Nashville hot chicken–dishes Finn’s ulcer couldn’t tolerate, foods that made Liam vomit as a child.
When the plates arrived, Finn swallowed a pepper whole, jaw tightening. Liam chugged milk between bites, tears streaming. Fiona fanned her mouth, mute with pain.
They’d rather choke than disappoint her, Stella realized.
Her chest constricted.
She’d spent years crafting bland, nourishing meals–roast chicken stripped of skin, oatmeal simmered for hours–only to watch them push plates away.
Now they were martyring themselves for Celeste’s approval.
At that precise moment, a white–jacketed server navigated the dining trench, piping–hot wild mushroom consommé quivering on his
tray.
Then tragedy struck–his Oxfords slipped on truffle oil as dramatically as a trapeze artist losing grip mid–swing.
Finn lunged across the table, shielding Celeste. Liam and Fiona threw themselves in front of her like human barricades.
Molten cream exploded across Stella’s forearm. Skin blistered instantly.
“Christ!” Celeste stared at three drops on her silk sleeve.
The server babbled apologies. Finn cradled Celeste’s wrist. “Emergency room. Now.
“It’s nothing,” Celeste demurred, eyes glistening. “But Stella-”
“Ma’am needs burn treatment!” the server insisted, pointing at Stella’s bubbling flesh.
Finn finally registered the damage. “Stop dawdling,” he ordered Stella.
His SUV tore through D.C. streets. Stella clutered her searing arm, silent as Finn accelerated toward Walter Reed.
Tires shrieked. Metal screamed.
Stella’s forehead cracked against the windshield. Blood painted the glass in a crimson spiderweb.
Chapter 2
S
Ask Al
4.5 FREE
Google Play
INSTALL
Claude Al supera rivais em testes de desempenho importantes.
1.90%
Through the haze, she saw Finn’s arms braced protectively over Celeste in the backseat, Liam and Fiona curled around her like guard dogs.
In the ER triage bay, Liam shoved past nurses. “Aunt Celeste first! Her wrist might be fractured!”
Finn loomed over the intern. “Prioritize Aunt Celeste.”
The medic gestured to Stella’s bleeding scalp and blistered arm. “But Colonel–your wife needs sutures and burn unit eval—”
“She’s stable!” Liam snarled. “Can’t you see Aunt Celeste crying?”
Fiona stomped. “Fix her now!”
She watched the scene unfold, a sudden flashback to that Fort Benning winter: eleven–year–old Liam burning up with typhoid fever, her body shielding his in Walter Reed’s ICU for seventy–two sleepless hours.
Another memory surfaced: Fiona’s pneumonia at three–Stella trudging two miles through a Georgia ice storm with the child strapped to her back, her own breath crystallizing in the darkness.
And the deepest wound: hemorrhaging during Liam’s breech birth, screaming into hospital phones that rang unanswered in Finn’s artillery range. Postpartum nights soaked in blood and formula, C–section staples tearing as she rocked twins screaming for a warmth
she’d never received.
She’d guarded these children with trench–warrior ferocity. And how did they repay her? By enlisting as Celeste’s infantry.
Now Liam screamed at professionals for Celeste’s pinkened skin. Fiona blew air over Celeste’s unmarked hand.
The monitor’s beep accelerated. Stella’s vision tunneled.
Flatlined, she thought as darkness swallowed her.
