Chapter 11 - THE MAN WHO LEARNED TO ASK FOR HELP
Desmond returned to the hospital that evening.
He was exhausted.
Dehydrated.
And furious.
But he was alive.
When I entered his room, he looked up.
"Claire."
I crossed my arms.
"Don't."
He blinked.
"What?"
"Don't say you're fine."
His mouth twitched.
"I wasn't going to."
I stepped closer.
"You scared me."
His expression softened.
"I know."
I swallowed.
"You could have died."
He looked down.
"I'm sorry."
I stared.
Desmond Gallagher had apologized.
Without being forced.
Without making excuses.
I sat beside his bed.
"What happened?"
He took a breath.
"Arthur wanted me to sign over the company."
"And?"
"I refused."
I nodded.
"He threatened you."
My stomach tightened.
Desmond continued.
"He said he'd make sure you disappeared."
I looked at him.
"And what did you do?"
His eyes filled.
"I told him he'd have to kill me first."
My breath caught.
"Desmond."
He looked away.
"I know."
I reached for his hand.
"That was brave."
He smiled faintly.
"Stupid, maybe."
"Both can be true."
He laughed softly.
Then grew serious.
"Claire."
"Yes?"
"I need help."
I stared.
He swallowed.
"Not just with my legs."
His voice broke.
"With everything."
I squeezed his hand.
"Then we'll find the right people to help."
May you like
He nodded.
And for the first time, Desmond Gallagher stopped pretending he could survive alone.
