Chapter 4 - The Midnight Connection
Before I could fully process the crushing weight of the revelation, the sleek smartphone inside the dark blue box lit up. A bright, incoming video call flashed across the screen, accompanied by a soft, familiar ringtone.
My breath caught. My hand hovered over the glass screen like I was touching a live wire. With a trembling finger, I swiped to accept the call.
The screen flickered, adjusting from a dark, sterile office in Zurich to the bright, tired face of a man I hadn't truly seen in over a year. Chris looked older. His hair was streaked with premature gray, dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes, and his cheeks were hollowed out. But the moment his eyes locked onto mine through the camera, his expression crumpled with raw, unfiltered emotion.
"Evelyn..." his voice broke, raspy and choked with unshed tears. "Oh, God, Evie. You're reading the letter."
"Chris..." I gasped, my hands flying to my mouth as fresh tears streamed down my face. "You absolute idiot. You stupid, stubborn idiot. Why didn't you tell me? Why did you let me hate you?"
On the screen, Chris pressed his forehead against his desk, his shoulders shaking as he wept. "Because if you knew, you would have tried to stop me. You would have refused to let me walk away. And I couldn't risk losing them, Evelyn. I couldn't lose my babies. If I had to be the villain in your story so that they could live, I would gladly play that part for the rest of my life."
Arthur Pendelton quietly stepped back, closing the hotel room door behind him to give us our long-overdue privacy.
"Are they okay?" Chris asked frantically, leaning closer to the camera. "Are the kids... did we make it to the ocean in time?"
"They're sleeping right over there," I whispered, turning the camera slightly so the soft light of the bedside lamp illuminated Lily and Ben’s peaceful faces. "They saw the ocean today, Chris. They ran into the waves. They laughed."
Chris let out a long, shuddering sigh of pure relief, closing his eyes as more tears tracked down his face. "Thank God. Thank God."
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"Arthur told me the funds are all here," I said, my voice steadying as the fierce, protective instinct of a mother took over. "The Swiss clinic... we can take them?"
"My private jet is fueled and waiting at the private airstrip twenty miles from your hotel," Chris said firmly, his voice regaining that steel-willed determination I had fallen in love with years ago. "A medical transport team is already on standby. We fly out to Zurich at sunrise."
