Chapter 6 - The Citadel of PeaceThe winter of 2026 arrived in Chicago with a brutal, freezing blizzard that turned the city’s concrete towers into monuments of ice. The wind howled off the lake, rattling the heavy double-paned windows of Room 712 at Northwestern Memorial.
Inside the room, however, it felt like an oasis.
The room was filled with the scent of fresh eucalyptus, warm linen, and the soft, rhythmic hum of the fetal heart monitor. A small, decorated artificial Christmas tree sat in the corner, its warm golden lights reflecting off the white walls.
Clara sat up in the bed, her cheeks finally regaining their soft, natural pink color. She was wearing a comfortable, oversized grey cashmere sweater I had bought her, her hair tied back in a neat braid. Her hands were folded gently over her massive, round belly.
I sat in the leather armchair beside her, an open laptop on my knees, but I hadn't looked at a spreadsheet in three hours. I was watching her.
“He’s doing it again, Ethan,” Clara said, a soft, beautiful smile breaking across her face.
I set the laptop aside instantly, sliding onto the edge of her mattress. I laid my hand flat against the lower right side of her belly. A second later, a sharp, distinct little thud pushed against my palm—our daughter, kicking with a rhythmic, stubborn intensity that made my throat tighten with emotion.
“She’s going to be an engineer,” I said, my voice thick. “She’s testing the structural integrity of the room.”
Clara laughed, her hand covering mine. “She’s just impatient. She’s been in this room for eight weeks, Ethan. She wants to see the world.”
“She stays in there until Dr. Evans says it’s safe,” I said, leaning down to press a soft kiss against Clara’s forehead, right over the spot where her own stress lines had finally dissolved. “We have three more weeks until the safe zone.”
Clara’s eyes softened, her fingers tracing the scar on my palm—the tiny mark left by the shattered silver frame from that terrible night. “You haven't been to the office in two months, Ethan. Arthur says the senior executives are panicking because you are managing the entire logistics division from a hospital cafeteria.”
“Let them panic,” I said, my voice steady and unshakeable. “The company can run itself. My father spent his life building a business because he thought it would make us safe. But I learned the hard way that an empire is useless if you leave the gate open for the monsters to walk in.”
I looked toward the door, where a private security guard stood stationed twenty-four hours a day. My mother had tried to send three letters through her lawyers, offering a "private reconciliation" in exchange for the restoration of her corporate credit lines. I had burned them in the hospital restroom without reading them.
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“Ethan,” Clara whispered, her face turning serious as she looked into my eyes. “Do you ever regret it? Cutting her out? She’s your mother.”
I took her hands in mine, lifting them to my lips. “The woman who gave birth to me tried to destroy the woman who gave me a life. That isn't a mother, Clara. That’s a ghost. And I’m done living in a cemetery.”
