Chapter 2 - SHADOWS OF THE PAST
Within thirty minutes, the entire dynamic of Mercy General Hospital shifted.
The chief of trauma surgery personally entered Operating Room 3, accompanied by two renowned specialists who had been rushed to the hospital under Matthew’s orders. Outside the surgical doors, a team of private nurses stood by, ready to move Anne Miller to the VIP intensive care suite the moment she stabilized.
In a private waiting room nearby, Matthew sat on a leather sofa with little Sarah.
He had sent his security team to buy her warm food, fresh clothes, a pair of soft shoes, and a clean blanket. A female nurse gently washed the grime and dried blood off Sarah's little hands and brushed her brown hair.
Through it all, Matthew refused to let the cardboard box of dolls out of his sight. He kept it sitting on the table right in front of them, as if it were a sacred treasure.
Sarah ate a sandwich quietly, her small legs swinging from the sofa. She looked at Matthew with a mixture of wonder and lingering fear.
"Mr. Matthew?" she asked softly.
"Yes, Sarah?"
"Are you very rich?"
Matthew paused, offering a sad, quiet smile. "Some people think so. But I'm not rich in the ways that matter."
"Can your money pay for Mommy's medicine?"
"Yes, sweetheart. It can pay for all of it. You don't ever have to worry about hospital bills again. Neither does your mommy."
Sarah looked down at the cardboard box. "So... I can keep Luna? And my shiny doll?"
"You keep every single one of them," Matthew said, his voice thick with emotion. "You are the bravest girl I have ever met, Sarah. Your dolls are priceless. No amount of money could ever buy what you offered to give up today."
Sarah smiled a tiny, fragile smile—the first one Matthew had seen—and leaned her tired head against his arm. Within minutes, worn out by terror and exhaustion, she drifted off to sleep.
As Matthew wrapped a soft wool blanket around the sleeping child, his executive assistant, Claire Walsh, stepped silently into the room. She held a thick leather binder.
"Mr. Sullivan," Claire whispered cautiously. "I ran the background check on Anne Miller as you requested."
Matthew carefully stood up without waking Sarah and walked to the corner of the room. "Tell me everything."
"Anne Miller is thirty-eight years old," Claire reported in a low, professional tone. "She has lived in the northern district for the past five years, working as a freelance seamstress and part-time bookstore clerk. Her financial records show she has been living far below the poverty line."
Matthew’s jaw tightened. "Her marital status?"
"Single," Claire said, looking at him with deep sympathy. "There is no record of a husband or partner. But Mr. Sullivan... look at Sarah’s birth certificate."
Claire handed him a document. Matthew’s eyes scanned down the page until they hit the child’s birthdate: November 14, 2020.
Then he looked at the line for the father’s name.
It was blank.
"Five years ago..." Matthew whispered, calculating the timeline in his head.
Five years ago, Matthew had briefly crossed paths with Anne at a public subway station in Chicago—a fleeting, miraculous encounter where they had locked eyes across a crowded platform just before a train pulled away. He had tried to track her down afterward, but she had vanished again.
He looked back at the sleeping child on the couch.
The almond-shaped eyes. The slight dimple on her left cheek when she smiled. The precise shape of her chin.
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Sarah was not just Anne’s daughter.
Sarah was his daughter.
