Chapter 5 - The Ultimatum from the Traction Bed
There was a long, wheezing pause on the other end of the line.
I could hear the rhythmic hiss of Tristan's supplemental oxygen tank.
Behind him, the faint, high-pitched sobbing of Chloe Davenport drifted through the receiver.
"Reese... stop playing games," Tristan panted, his arrogance trying desperately to reassert itself through the pain.
"I am in Vancouver General Hospital."
"They drove a metal rod through my thigh."
"Chloe has a broken collarbone and facial lacerations."
"Neither of us can walk."
"The hospital won't transfer us to a private recovery penthouse without a legal spouse to authorize the admission and oversee the private nursing care."
"You need to get on the next flight out of Sea-Tac airport."
"Book a ticket to Vancouver tonight."
"You are my wife."
"You are legally obligated to manage this situation."
I let out a soft, dry laugh that echoed in the quiet hospital room.
"Have you lost your mind, Tristan?"
"Three days ago, you painted chemical poison on my open flesh."
"You tried to watch me die in our hallway."
"You canceled my rides."
"You drained our son's medical trust to pay for your luxury hotel suites with your mistress."
"And now you want me to fly to Canada to empty your bedpans?"
A sharp, ragged cough tore through Tristan’s damaged lung.
He groaned in genuine agony before his voice dropped into a dark, familiar hiss.
"Listen to me, you ungrateful bitch."
"You think you have the upper hand because you're sitting in Seattle?"
"The secondary trust for Leo’s ongoing physical therapy is held under my personal signature authority."
"I set up an automatic revocation clause with the trustee bank."
"If I don't execute a biometric verification from an approved terminal by Monday afternoon, the entire trust liquidates into a blind corporate escrow in Belize."
"Leo won't get ten thousand dollars."
"He won't get ten cents."
"His medical team will drop him from the pediatric program by the end of next week."
"Do you want your son to die suffocating on his own fluids?"
"Then you will get on that plane."
"You will come to Vancouver."
"You will sign the hospital release forms for both me and Chloe."
"And you will personally manage our recovery suite until we are cleared to travel."
He truly believed he still held the leash.
He truly believed that by holding Leo’s future hostage, he could force me to serve as his submissive domestic servant while he healed beside his mistress.
He didn't realize that a mother backed into a corner doesn't surrender.
She plans.
"You want a caregiver, Tristan?" I asked softly, my voice deceptively compliant.
"Is that what you need to survive?"
"Yes!" he snapped, gasping for breath.
"We need twenty-four-hour specialized nursing care in a private residential facility."
"And I need someone to sign the guarantor paperwork because my primary cards are under review."
"If you do this, I will authorize the trust release on Monday."
"I swear it."
A wolf’s promise.
I knew that the moment he was healed and out of traction, he would discard both me and Leo without a second thought.
He would crush us the second his leg was out of that cast.
"All right, Tristan," I said, pitching my voice to sound weary, broken, and defeated.
"I'll handle it."
"I won't come in person because Dr. Mensah refuses to clear me for air travel."
"My own leg is still recovering from your chemical experiment."
"What do you mean you won't come?" he snarled, panic flaring in his tone.
"I will do something better," I said smoothly.
"I will contact a premier private medical agency in downtown Vancouver right now."
"I will use our remaining joint credit reserve to hire a dedicated, full-time private caregiver."
"I will sign the electronic medical guarantor forms as your legal wife."
"The caregiver will take custody of you and Chloe the moment the hospital discharges you into the private annex tomorrow morning."
"You will receive all the specialized care you deserve."
A heavy sigh of relief escaped Tristan’s lips over the crackling audio.
He genuinely thought he had broken me.
He genuinely thought my maternal instinct had made me bend the knee once again.
"Good," he muttered, his arrogance returning in full force.
"Make sure they're elite."
"Make sure the facility is five-star."
"Chloe needs organic meals and complete quiet for her headaches."
"Don't screw this up, Reese."
"I won't screw it up, Tristan," I replied quietly.
"I promise you."
"You will get precisely what you paid for."
I tapped the red button on the screen, severing the call.
I pulled up a private search browser on my laptop.
I didn't look for the most expensive concierge nursing services in British Columbia.
I typed three specific words into the search bar:
"Lowest-rated medical care facility Vancouver."
The results populated instantly.
At the very bottom of the directory sat an entity with a one-star rating across over two hundred customer reviews:
"North Shore Strict Custodial Nursing Services."
The reviews were horrifyingly consistent:
"Treated my father like an inmate in a high-security penitentiary."
"Refused to hand over the television remote."
"Strict six-o'clock lights out."
"Zero tolerance for complaints."
"The head matron is a retired military corrections nurse."
A slow, cold smile spread across my face for the first time in weeks.
I dialed the twenty-four-hour administrative hotline for North Shore Strict Custodial.
A gravelly, humorless voice answered on the second ring.
"North Shore Custodial."
"State your patient’s intake status."
"Good evening," I said, leaning back against my pillows.
"I need your most rigid, unyielding, and unsympathetic caregiver."
"I have two difficult patients discharging from Vancouver General Hospital tomorrow morning."
May you like
"They require strict behavioral discipline and absolute immobilization."
"And I am willing to pay double your standard commercial rate in cash."
