Chapter 18 #3
She drifted briefly, caught in a restless sleep, her dreams punctuated by fragmented images: Catherine smiling, Catherine pulling away, Catherine’s eyes softening with warmth, Catherine’s laugh ringing through the studio.
Every moment they’d shared wove itself into her dreams, reminding her of all they stood to lose, yet strengthening her resolve to fight even harder for their future.
When she finally opened her eyes again, dawn had begun to spill through the window, painting the sterile room in shades of pale gold and gentle pink. The city outside was waking, life resuming its rhythm, unaware of the small dramas unfolding behind the hospital walls.
Sloane sat up slowly, her neck stiff from the uncomfortable position. She turned immediately to Catherine, half-expecting to see some sign, any sign, that things had changed. But Catherine remained still, beautiful yet painfully silent.
Exhaling deeply, Sloane brushed a strand of hair tenderly from Catherine’s forehead. Her heart twisted painfully in her chest, but determination filled her voice as she leaned in once more, whispering into the quiet room:
“You’ve always been a fighter, Catherine. Now fight for this, for us. I’m right here, and I’m not leaving. Not until you open those eyes and yell at me for making you feel all of this.”
She pressed a gentle kiss to Catherine’s hand, feeling a soft surge of hope, a hope fragile yet unbreakable. The room filled again with quiet, leaving Sloane alone with her thoughts, her love, and her fierce determination to hold on.
She sat back in the chair, her eyes never leaving Catherine’s face, no matter how long it took.
The morning had fully broken, sunlight spilling brightly through the hospital room window, washing away the shadows that had offered some comfort through the night.
Sloane was still seated beside Catherine's bed, her eyes heavy from exhaustion and her fingers lightly intertwined with Catherine's.
The rhythmic beep of monitors had become almost comforting in its regularity, a constant reassurance that Catherine was still fighting somewhere within her own silence.
A quiet knock at the door drew her attention sharply. Turning, Sloane felt her stomach tighten when she saw Evelyn Harrington standing stiffly in the doorway, her face an unreadable mask of elegant disapproval.
“Ms. Bennett,” Evelyn greeted coolly, her voice carrying a clipped edge of formality. She stepped into the room with careful deliberation, as if the space belonged to her and she were merely tolerating Sloane's presence within it.
“Mrs. Harrington,” Sloane responded, rising slowly from the chair, her posture straightening instinctively. Her heart was already racing, anticipating what was to come.
Evelyn regarded her briefly, her eyes flicking dismissively over her paint-smudged clothes and tired expression. She sighed slightly, a calculated, practiced gesture that conveyed more disdain than any words ever could.
“I'm sure you're aware that my daughter is in a very delicate condition,” Evelyn began, her tone smooth and deceptively calm. “She requires absolute stability during her recovery, stability that does not include unnecessary…emotional distractions.”
Sloane bristled slightly but kept her voice steady. “With all due respect, Mrs. Harrington, I'm not a distraction. I care deeply about your daughter. I'm here because I want to support her.”
Evelyn arched an elegant eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Support,” she echoed dryly, the word tasting bitter in her mouth. “Your version of support seems to leave my daughter unfocused and reckless. Catherine’s choices have always been impeccable, until recently.”
Sloane clenched her jaw, fighting to remain composed under the older woman's scrutiny. “Catherine’s choices are her own, Mrs. Harrington. I’ve never forced anything on her.
Whatever we've built, it's mutual. She deserves to have someone in her life who sees her for more than just what she can achieve.”
Evelyn’s lips curled into a thin, humorless smile. “And you truly believe that's you? An artist whose greatest achievement is causing disruption?”
“Disruption,” Sloane echoed quietly, incredulous. “Is that how you see love? As a disruption?”
“Love?” Evelyn laughed quietly, the sound devoid of warmth. “Catherine doesn’t need your brand of love, Ms. Bennett. She needs clarity, stability, and ambition—qualities you've clearly never possessed or understood.”
Sloane’s hands tightened into fists at her sides, but her voice stayed even, controlled by sheer willpower.
“You don’t know me. And from what I’ve seen, you barely know your daughter either.
Catherine isn’t a machine. She needs compassion, affection, and someone who cares about her, not just what she represents. ”
Evelyn’s eyes flashed with rare emotion, a glimpse of icy anger that quickly settled into an unyielding calm. “She’s my daughter. You will never understand what she needs better than I do. You’ve caused enough damage already. It ends now.”
She took a step closer, her voice lowering, the words delivered with a quiet, precise venom.
“Let me make this perfectly clear. Your presence here is neither welcome nor helpful. You are not family, you are not her partner, and as far as I am concerned, you are no longer welcome at this hospital unless specifically requested by Catherine herself.”
The room seemed to shrink around them, Evelyn’s presence imposing itself, sharp and unyielding. Sloane felt her heart sink, anger warring with helplessness. “And if Catherine wants me here? If she wakes up and asks for me?”
“Then, and only then, will I permit you to step foot near her again. But until that moment arrives”—Evelyn paused pointedly—“I suggest you respect her family’s wishes and stay away.”
Sloane drew a shaky breath, steadying herself, her eyes blazing with defiant intensity. “You can’t erase what we have.”
Evelyn gave a small, dismissive tilt of her head, turning toward the door. “Perhaps. But I can protect my daughter from making further mistakes. Goodbye, Ms. Bennett.”
With a final, cutting glance, Evelyn left, the sound of her heels fading down the hall, leaving behind a silence that pressed heavily against Sloane’s chest. She turned slowly back to Catherine, feeling as though the ground beneath her had shifted, unstable and uncertain.
Her eyes lingered on Catherine’s peaceful, unconscious face, her heart aching with an intensity she couldn’t describe. Evelyn’s warning echoed harshly in her ears, mingling bitterly with her own lingering fear and doubt.
Sloane reached out one last time, brushing a strand of hair away from Catherine’s forehead. “Please wake up, Catherine,” she whispered brokenly. “Please.”
Her fingers lingered for a moment longer before she withdrew, her chest tight, eyes stinging with unshed tears.
She gathered her things silently, feeling Evelyn’s words sear through her again and again—sharp, cruel, but not entirely wrong.
Catherine needed peace, not turmoil. And right now, Sloane wasn’t sure which one she represented more.
As she stepped out of the room, she cast one final glance back at Catherine, lying silent, vulnerable and unreachable.
Her heart ached painfully, but beneath the ache was a quiet resolve.
Evelyn might be able to keep her away temporarily, but nothing could erase the connection she and Catherine had built.
Sloane walked slowly down the corridor, carrying her love like a quiet promise, waiting for the moment Catherine would open her eyes and decide what came next. Until then, she’d hold onto hope, no matter how fragile it felt.