He did not look at the officers dragging Brenner away; he only looked at Mary, whose eyes were open and clear for the first time in days.

Lauren clung to my coat, her small fingers warm against my wrist.

“Is Mommy awake?” she whispered.

Mary turned her head slowly on the pillow and reached out a weak hand.

“I’m here, baby,” Mary whispered, her voice scratchy but solid.

Ethan sank to his knees by the bedside, his expensive suit trousers pressing against the linoleum.

He took Mary’s hand in both of his, pressing his forehead against her knuckles.

“I resigned this morning, Mary,” he said softly.

“The board can have the company.”

“I don’t care about the towers or the shares anymore.”

Mary looked at him, her pale face softening as she searched his eyes for the truth.

“We have a lot of years to rebuild, Ethan,” she said.

He nodded, a single tear spilling over his cheek.

“We’ll start small,” he said, reaching back to pull Lauren into his arms.

A week later, we left St. Anne’s Hospital under a grey but quiet Chicago sky.