Chapter 70: Something Uncertain, But Real

Marcus's POV

The ambulance doors close with a hollow, final thud. That sound sticks with me.

It echoes in my chest long after the sirens fade into the distance, long after the office empties, long after the adrenaline drains and leaves behind something colder and heavier. Damian stands beside me, shoulders rigid, eyes locked on the spot where our father disappeared. Peter hasn’t said a word since the paramedics wheeled him out—just keeps rubbing a hand over his face like he’s trying to wake himself from a nightmare.

For the first time in my life, the idea of losing him feels real. Not theoretical. Not something buried under anger or resentment.

Real.

“We should go,” Damian finally says, voice low and hoarse. “Hospital.”

Peter nods immediately. “Yeah. Yeah—of course.”

I follow them down the hallway on my crutches, every step awkward and slow, my knee throbbing in a way that feels distant compared to the ache in my chest. The office floor is a mess—papers scattered, phones left off the hook, assistants frozen in stunned silence. Someone whispers my father’s name like it might summon him back upright and invincible.

It doesn’t.

The drive to the hospital is quiet. Too quiet. Damian grips the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. Peter sits in the back, staring out the window, jaw clenched so tight I’m surprised his teeth don’t crack.

I keep thinking about the way my father looked at me right before the paramedics arrived.

Not angry. Not disappointed. Afraid.

The hospital smells like antiseptic and urgency. We wait. And wait. And wait.

Doctors come and go. Nurses murmur reassurances they’ve said a thousand times before. Someone finally tells us it was a cardiac event—serious, but caught in time. They say words like stable and monitoring and next twenty-four hours are critical.

Critical.

We sit in hard plastic chairs under fluorescent lights, none of us willing to be the first to leave.

I text Anna.

At the hospital. Dad collapsed at work. I’ll explain when I can.

Three dots appear almost instantly.

I’m coming.

I don’t tell her not to.

When she arrives, she doesn’t rush. She doesn’t panic. She just walks straight to me and kneels in front of my chair like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Her hands slide over mine, warm and grounding.

“Hey,” she says softly.

My throat tightens. “Hey.”

Her eyes flick briefly to Damian and Peter, then back to me. “How is he?”

“Alive,” I say. “For now.”

She nods, like she understands exactly what that word carries. Then she does something I didn’t know I needed—she leans in and rests her forehead against mine.

Not to fix anything. Just to be there.

Hours pass. Eventually, a doctor lets us see him.

My father looks smaller in the hospital bed. Pale. Tubes everywhere. The machines beep steadily, indifferent to everything he’s built and everything he’s broken. Damian stands closest to him, arms crossed tightly, jaw clenched. Peter lingers near the foot of the bed, eyes glossy, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. I hover at the side, unsure where I fit.

His eyes open slowly.

“Richard,” the doctor says gently. “Your sons are here.”

My father’s gaze shifts—lands on Damian, then Peter, then me. Recognition flickers, followed by something like regret.

“Marcus,” he rasps.

I step closer. “I’m here.”

He swallows with difficulty. “You… shouldn’t be worrying about me.”

I almost laugh. Almost.

“Seems a little late for that,” I reply quietly.

The doctor gives us a few minutes alone. Silence settles heavy in the room.

“I lost control,” my father says finally, staring at the ceiling. “Everything’s falling apart.”

Damian exhales sharply. “You don’t have to fix everything right now.”

My father’s eyes flick to him. “I’ve always had to.”

I feel something twist in my chest.

“You don’t,” I say before I can stop myself. “Not alone. And not by forcing everyone to bend.”

He closes his eyes briefly, like the words physically hurt.

“I was trying to protect you,” he murmurs.

Peter scoffs softly. “By strangling us?”

“Peter,” Damian warns.

“No,” Peter says, voice cracking. “Let him hear it.”

My father looks at Peter then, really looks at him. “I didn’t know any other way.”

I grip the edge of the bedrail, my knuckles whitening. “That doesn’t make it okay.”

Silence.

Then, quietly: “I know.”

That’s new. Anna stands just outside the door, giving us space but never leaving my line of sight. When I glance at her, she meets my gaze steadily—no judgment, no pressure. Just belief. And suddenly, I realize something terrifying and freeing all at once.

My father isn’t the immovable force I grew up fearing. He’s human. Flawed. Scared. Breaking.

And that doesn’t erase the damage he’s done—but it changes the battlefield.

“I don’t know what happens next,” my father says. “For the company. For any of it.”

Damian straightens. “Then let us help. Not control us—trust us.”

Peter nods. “Or at least stop treating us like liabilities.”

My father swallows hard. “And Anna?”

The room stills.

I don’t look away. “She stays.”

There’s no hesitation in my voice this time. No fear. My father studies me, something heavy and complicated passing through his eyes.

“She makes you stronger,” he says slowly. Not accusing. Observing.

“Yes,” I reply. “She does.”

He exhales, long and tired. “Then I’ve been fighting the wrong enemy.”

That lands harder than anything else he could’ve said.

Later, when visiting hours end and Damian and Peter go to grab coffee, I trudge myself down the hallway on my crutches, Anna at my side.

“I was scared,” I admit quietly. “Not just of losing him. Of what comes after.”

She slips her hand into mine. “You don’t have to know yet.”

I nod. “Everything’s changing.”

She squeezes my hand. “Change doesn’t mean loss.”

I look at her—really look at her—and for the first time since the injury, the scandal, the collapse, I don’t feel like I’m bracing for impact. I feel like I’m standing at the edge of something new.

Messy.

Uncertain.

Real.